


Priest

by Wavecloud19



Series: Priest [1]
Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wavecloud19/pseuds/Wavecloud19
Summary: As Fleabag navigated the events of her fathers wedding and focussed on reintegrating herself into her family's life after a hiatus of 371 days, 19 hours & 26 minutes, whilst simultaneously trying to not fuck a priest, this story tells the events from the perspective of said Priest.What was he thinking? What was he doing in the moments he was off screen, whilst Fleabag was smashing sperm shaped awards, yelling at hairdressers or calling her lawyer?Read on to find out...
Relationships: Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Series: Priest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785526
Comments: 69
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Obvi this is only MY interpretation of the Priests thoughts but hopefully you enjoy. There will be angst, there will be smut (for which I will NOT apologise, ahem SPJ7) and I plan on using as little of the dialogue from the actual show as possible, I'm focussed on off camera action ;)

**Chapter One - A Priest comes to dinner**

He was looking forward to this dinner. It would be the first evening spent in company other than Pam in two months.

He opened his closet and surveyed his options. Plenty of black shirts, a few charity shop bought t-shirts and two button down shirts, one navy, bought by an ex girlfriend in another life, and one lightish brown one.

Dog collar or no dog collar? He had been invited as a priest. As the priest who would be officiating at their wedding. But he was always the priest. Most of the time he liked the way people reacted to the collar. They always said “morning” when they passed him in the street and he felt like people were politer around him when he looked like a priest. But sometimes, he liked the anonymity of being a regular person.

Dog collar or no dog collar?

Oh fuck it, first night out in a few months, no dog collar. He grabbed the old brown shirt.

The couple seemed nice enough. Granted she was incredibly whacky and had practically felt him up as she asked him to be the priest. And they were slightly mismatched. But who was he to judge. They seemed to be in love.

He’d met them through Claire, the daughter. She sometimes came round to see Jake when he played in the church band. Sometimes, meaning very rarely and only ever with her husband, Martin, the American. Pam didn’t like Martin. He could tell by the way she tutted under her breath when he talked. But when Claire had approached him a few weeks ago to ask if she could give his number to her father, he had leapt at the chance. Being new to the parish, he hadn’t actually performed any formal services yet. His mass wasn’t really attracting too many parishioners, and he hoped that getting a little more well known might up the attendance. He did love to give mass, but looking around an empty church, with just Pam grinning back at him got slightly disheartening after a while.

As he searched round for his wallet, his restaurant review notes caught his eye. Normally he took a monthly trip out alone to find a new restaurant but he was going to use tonight’s dinner for his next review.

Probably can’t take the notebook, he thought as he whistled quietly to himself, stashing his keys in his pocket and heading down to the front door.

‘See you later, Pam,’ she was sitting in an armchair, a large hardback book in hand.

‘Oh father, where are you off to?’

‘Dinner with a family in the congregation. Won’t be too late.’

‘Oh, how nice,’ she beamed. ‘Don’t be too loud when you come back father.’

‘Of course not, Pam. Have a good evening.’

He headed down the pathway towards the street. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a good feeling about this evening.

***

Arriving at the restaurant, he gave the family’s name to the host and headed to the table.

Only the couple to be married were there. ‘Hi,’ he reached forward and shook their hands in turn. The table was set for six people, he wondered if Jake was also coming, along with Claire and Martin, he assumed.

‘Oh father, it was so good of you to come,’ the bride to be gushed.

‘Ah it’s my pleasure,’ he rubbed his hands together and made to sit down next to the groom to be.

‘Oh no,’ she patted the place setting next to her, ‘you absolutely _must_ sit next to me.’ She gave a small laugh and waved her hands around her face. ‘I am the bride after all.’

‘Of course,’ he made his way round the table to take his seat.

‘So,’ she put her hand on his arm. ‘Father, whilst we wait for everyone, tell me, how was your day? Get up to anything fun? Anything “priesty”?’ On that last word, her eyes grew wide and she flourished her hand.

He chuckled, ‘“priesty”…? Wow, uh... I...’ her gaze was intense, her eyes were darting between him and her husband to be. Her hand felt heavy on his forearm.

‘Actually, today I visited two of my parishioners,’ it felt nice to have someone other than Pam to talk to, ‘one of them is this lovely lady who’s daughter moved overseas so she’s a little lonely. She loves to knit and she made me...-‘

He was cut off in his story as her gaze left his and settled on someone behind him, ‘oh darlings, Claire, we’re over here. How are you?’

He swung his head around to see two women approaching the table. Claire was striding with an air of annoyance about her, and another woman, tall with a short mop of brown hair was following her slowly. He stood up as Claire came round to greet them.

‘Hello Claire,’ he held out his hand.

‘Hello, how are you?’ She was looking down at his hand. He had assumed, based on the stepmother's behaviour so far, that this family would be a tactile one, but maybe Claire was strictly no contact? Finally, she reluctantly took his hand and gave him a firm handshake before turning and pointing at the other woman who was by now loitering awkwardly by the table. ‘This is my sister.’

Her sister? Oh.

‘Oh, hi,’ he glanced over, and reached his hand out, to Claire’s as yet, unnamed sister. ‘Nice to meet you.’

She was staring at him curiously. She hadn’t said a word yet and was making no move to return his handshake. She was wearing a jumpsuit. And trainers. The jumpsuit had a high neck and the fabric was cut out right at her….

He willed himself not to look and brought his gaze back up to meet hers.

She still wasn’t engaging. They stared at each other for a few moments before...

‘Ok, ok, everyone sit down. Claire you sit next to your father, and you dear, you can sit just here.’ She pointed to the seat next to him.

Ok, so Claire’s sister was not friendly. Noted.

He sat back down and turned towards the happy couple to see a waitress approaching behind them with a bottle of champagne. He was looking forward to a nice social drink.

Truth be told he had been drinking a little too much some nights in the rectory. Pam was an early settler and would usually be in her room by nine. He had found himself drinking more glasses of whisky than he cared to admit each night as he sat in the living room and tried to focus on some scriptures. So tonight he looked forward to having a glass with some..., not friends, but well, some company.

He looked around the table eagerly, looking forward to the conversation. It appeared the waitress had been shooed away and they were now pouring out glasses of champagne themselves.

Claire’s sister still hadn’t said anything, not only to him but to anyone else at the table. He passed her the breadbasket and took the chance to look at her face again. She was staring at Claire who was studiously avoiding her sister and staring at her stepmother to be.

He was getting a slightly odd vibe from everyone at this table. Except the dad. The dad was wringing his hands together gently and smiling around the table.

He picked up the glass and looked around the table again. The sisters had arrived together, but he was definitely getting some sort of Cold War vibe from them. Their soon to be stepmother was very bubbly and friendly on the surface, “frilly” his mother would have called her. And he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he was sensing some tension coming from her too.

Suddenly they were raising their glasses and toasting to love, and as he chinked glasses with the nameless sister, noting she had finally spoken to join the toast, they were interrupted by a familiar face. Martin, Jake’s dad. Boy that guy was brash. He felt a bit sorry for Jake who was quite timid and reserved in comparison. He made a note to include Jake in his prayers that evening.

***

As she excused herself for the second time that evening, he watched her retreating figure, heading out the side door of the restaurant.

‘And father, you like it of course don’t you?’ He felt a hand on his arm.

‘I’m sorry?’ He looked to his right.

‘The wine? You remember I chose it, father?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely. Sorry, can you excuse me for a second.’ He pried his arm out from under the bride to be’s hand, stood awkwardly and placed his napkin on his chair.

'Hurry back father, we're dying to hear more about you.'

He nodded and headed off in the same direction as Claire's sister.

What would he say to her?

She’d barely spoken to him, would she even acknowledge him if he went out to her?

He rubbed his hand through the back of his hair agitatedly as he walked slowly towards the side exit.

He wanted to find out a little about her. But she was incredibly closed off. He wasn’t sure why he was so intrigued by her. Usually, he liked to put anyone he had spent time with each day into his prayers. And so far, the only thing he knew to pray for was the success of her cafe. But he’d be lying to himself if he said that was the only reason he was so interested. There was something about her. He felt like her entire family were waiting for her to explode.

He stepped out the door and saw her outline at the bottom of the steps. She was leaning her back against the wall, eyes closed and head tilted up.

She really was beautiful, he thought, before hurriedly shooing the thought and putting a smile on his face.

She opened her eyes and stared up at him, a half smile on her face. Challenging him to break down her defence.

He had used to be a smoker. Back in his old life. But no more. Oh well, good excuse as any, ‘fellow smoker. Do you have a spare one?’

***

The whole exchange lasted barely 30 seconds. And now he wanted nothing more than to know every detail about her.

She hadn’t struck him as rude. And yet, that had been exactly how she’d acted just now. An outright dismissal before he'd even taken a drag. It couldn’t have been because he had asked her a question about her family. He could tell there was something bubbling between them as he observed them over dinner, but before he’d even opened his mouth to engage with her, she had already thrown out her half smoked cigarette and brushed past him. Eager to get away.

As he finished his cigarette, curiosity coursed through his veins. Or maybe it was nicotine.

***

Walking to the tube, he thought about the evening. Going in, he certainly had not expected to leave the night with a black eye. He reached up and gingerly touched his finger to the bruise. Yep, that was going to swell. He wondered if they had any ice in their freezer at home, or maybe some frozen peas.

Why had he felt compelled to give her his parish address? She was… what was she?

She had been quiet for 90% of the meal. He had been able to tell from the general tone at the table that this was slightly unusual. Like they had all been expecting her to suddenly erupt into a fiery tirade, or make a sarcastic comment in reply to one of their topic of conversation.

Surely none of them had expected her to punch Martin. He had to give it to her, it had been an impressive whack. And though he rarely thought anybody deserved violence, he had to wonder why Martin and Claire had been so nasty and dispassionate about her miscarriage.

Silently, as he walked down the street, he ran over a short prayer for her lost baby. She would definitely be in his prayers that night as well, but seeing as she was refusing to go to the hospital, a hurried prayer now would be as useful as anything else.

***

Back home, the house was quiet. Pam had already gone to her bedroom, and the bottom floor of the house was in darkness barring one small lamp. She must have left it on for him, he thought with a small smile.

In the kitchen, fishing around the freezer for something cold to place on his eye, he laughed to himself as he pictured the look of surprise from her earlier when she’d realised he was a priest and felt a quiet sense of thrill run through him as he remembered she had ordered her second tequila only fifteen minutes into the dinner. She’d even asked him if he was a real priest, he chuckled quietly as he located an ice cube tray and took it out the freezer.

With the ice cubes wrapped in an old tea towel, with a picture of a London bus on it, in one hand, and a tumbler of whisky in the other, he sat on the sofa, thinking about the family he had spent his evening with.

Martin, he’d known was brash and loud, but also, he had learned, was an alcoholic seemingly with some abandonment issues, amplified by his wife’s new job abroad. Claire was most likely pushing down some repressed feelings of sort that he sincerely hoped wouldn’t come bursting out all at once. If he had to guess though, he suspected she might let loose sooner rather than later.

Her dad was nice enough, he rarely spoke and when he did it seemed his bride-to-be preferred to finish off his sentences on his behalf. Or maybe she just got impatient waiting for him to finish them. They seemed genuinely happy together though. Sure the bride was very tactile with him, but as many times as she had put her hand on his arm that evening, she’d probably put her hand on her fiancés arm ten times more.

Claire’s sister though, he was getting nothing and for some reason he couldn’t quite pin down, she intrigued him. He’d found himself glancing her way more than usual as the night went on, trying to glean a smile or catch her eye but she had steadfastly refused to meet him halfway.

_“I run a cafe.”_

He had not been expecting that answer. Actually, he had been expecting her to say an artist or something. A career similar to her stepmother-to-be. Somehow, this enigma of a woman in that fucking phenomenal outfit (he was celibate but he was still human), with her trainers and her red lips had shocked him with just four words. He wondered what the cafe was like. Probably quite trendy, trendier than anywhere he would go anyway. And he imagined that she might be a chatty host. It seemed being around her family made her take on some form of selective mutism, but he'd hazard a wager that with her friends, she was the life and soul. He imagined her eyes sparkling with mischief as she told a dirty joke or a wry smile on her face as she regaled the events of the evening to her friends.

_“I had a little miscarriage.”_

He certainly had not been expecting that. He took a sip of whisky, wondering what she was doing. He was tormented by the idea that she was home alone now, in pain and unsure of how to process her loss. He wondered if she was with a partner, letting him know what had happened. The family hadn’t seemed to know who the father would be, which meant she wasn’t married. But there surely was someone waiting for her. It almost seemed like she was too interesting, too captivating, too…valuable, to _not_ have someone like that in her life.

He took a gulp of whisky. His felt a heaviness in his heart all of a sudden.

After one more tumbler of whisky and with a damp tea towel in hand, he decided it was time for bed. He’d drank a little more than usual, buoyed by the company earlier and he tried his best to make his way up the stairs in silence. As he crept past Pam’s bedroom door, the floorboard creaked and he heard a cough. Wincing he hurried to his room and pushed the door shut behind him. He pulled his shirt over his head and chucked it into his laundry basket. The house was old, which meant draughty, especially at night, and there was no budget to put double glazed windows in. Pam was very frugal with the central heating so he usually slept in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He gathered his thoughts as he got ready for bed. Jake, Mrs Green, Pam… he ran through his list. It was his list for inclusion in his evening prayer.

He would pray for Jake that he had courage to forge his own path in spite of negative influences, for Mrs Green, who’s husband had recently passed, he would pray for comfort and healing, and joy in the remembrance of her husband. For Pam, he said his usual prayer, asking for contentment and strength and a guiding hand to ease the burden of her busy mind.

He made his way through his list, including his dinner companions for the night, until finally he reached her. What to say.

‘Lord, in her loss, I pray that she may be consoled by the promise of life yet to come. That she finds hope in the thought of a life changed, and not ended. Beyond her loss of today, I know you can see the ongoing pain in her heart, the pain she’s been carrying with her, a deep sorrow and I ask for mercy on her behalf, please allow your mercy to fill her heart that she may find peace. You see her loss, you see her wounds, and I pray that you heal them, old and new. Draw her closer into your everlasting arms of love. Amen’

He opened his eyes and let out a loud sigh. It wasn’t the most eloquent, he had found it hard to get exactly what he wanted to say into coherent sentences. But it would do. Maybe he could try again tomorrow night.

He climbed into his small creaky bed, thoughts of her racing through his mind.

He had given her the address of his church. She had probably thrown that away by now, discarded it. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to come or not. Pulling his thick duvet up, he wondered where she was. He hoped she was also in her bed. He wasn’t sure why he hoped that. Because she should resting and recovering from her loss? Or because the alternative, still out somewhere, drinking or dancing or fucking, the alternative filled him with a feeling of unease. It was disconcerting and unfamiliar.

As he closed his eyes that night, mind muddled from whisky and wine and tequila and alive with thoughts of the evening, he fell asleep to the thought of her face, smiling and bright as she stared down at him from the top of the steps.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments on the first chapter. I'm enjoying writing this mostly because it gives me an excuse to re-watch Fleabag for the thousandth time, research yanow.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, and despite many places now lifting their quarantine rules, I still encourage everyone to 
> 
> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Thanks folks.

**Chapter Two - Some tea and a fete**

_He was at the restaurant. He walked slowly towards the side door and ran his fingers through the back of his hair._

_What would he say to her? Would she ignore him?_

_He stepped out the door and saw her outline at the bottom of the steps. She was leaning her back against the wall, eyes closed and head tilted up._

_He made his way down the steps and stopped just in front of her. There was space of only a few inches between them._

_She opened her eyes and her lips curved into a smile. He took a step forward, taking a deep breath and put his hand up to her cheek. Grazing her cheekbone with his thumb, her eyes were intense on his. They were dancing, playful. Daring him to take action, do something._

_He leaned forward, his hand placed on her waist, puling her close into him. She leaned in and kissed him softly. He could taste smoke and wine on her lips. He hadn’t done this in years. He took a sharp inhale of breath against her lips as he felt her hands on his back, firm and insistent, pulling him closer._

_She was taking charge, her tongue forced his lips apart, and her entire body was pressed flush against his. He backed her against the wall, his hand running up the outline of her waist and to her tits. She bit his lip playfully and crushed her lips back against his. He could feel a stirring somewhere in his stomach…_

His eyes snapped open with a jolt. He was in his bed, in the rectory. He looked over at his alarm clock. 5.42. His alarm would be going off in a few minutes. His heart was racing and it took him a few moments to remember what he had been dreaming about.

He ran his hands over his face roughly. Fuck.

That girl. How had she managed to make her way into his dream? He rarely had vivid dreams, which was useful when you were celibate. It helped to avoid waking up with a hard on and a burning desire to take care of it, when sex dreams or even just dreams about making out in an alleyway were few and far between.

He hopped out of bed, shutting off the forthcoming alarm and headed for a shower. He’d given her his address. She definitely didn’t look like the religious type. Surely the chances of her coming to his church were incredibly low, he thought as he turned on the faucet and stepped under the water. She had probably discarded that address in the bin as soon as she left the restaurant. Hopefully.

***

It had been a nice service. Not a huge amount of people, but he was feeling good about his sermon and it was nice out. He was looking forward to getting some fresh air later.

He heard her before he saw her.

‘And also with you.’

She looked embarrassed when she realised that no one else had spoken. He could feel his cheeks colour and a smile on his lips that didn’t suit the somber feel of the service.

It had been a couple of days since he had dreamt about her and thankfully she hadn’t snuck her way back into his subconscious since then. He had decided that had been just a one off. A minor complication caused by excessive alcohol and possible minor head injury following the punch he’d received earlier in the night.

But why was he so happy to see her? He had given her his church address. But he had certainly never expected her to come. And he hadn’t really wanted her to. She didn’t strike him as the religious sort. Was she here you see him?

He struggled to get his thoughts back together, glancing down at the notices in front of him. But he couldn’t help it, he looked back up at her. She was smiling wryly. She’d flustered him and she knew it.

***

He’d asked her if she wanted tea. Why had he asked her that? It was a Pam thing to do really. Not really his style. But she unsettled him. She made him forget how to think or act or even walk. He’d nearly bumped into a pew as he’d led her back into the vestry. Such a dork.

She’d said she was here to pay him back for dinner. Nice of her, if completely unnecessary. He had to admit, when they had been settling the bill at the restaurant, as she had been clearing up her massive nosebleed, he’d been shocked that her dad hadn’t paid for her. On one hand, the family had seemed so positive and put together, but on the other, to leave their daughter and sister alone after she’d had a miscarriage was a little cold.

He pottered around the kitchen, grabbing the nicest tea cups he could find and a tray.

What would they talk about?

He wondered if she had come to him for guidance, or maybe to talk about her baby. That he could do. Or maybe she had thought his offer of coming by the church had been for friendship. That was a little more tricky. But he _had_ asked her to come.

Really he was only getting himself into a bit of a state because of that dream, he thought, as he poured the boiling water out. If not for that, this was completely normal.

‘Father.’

He jumped at the sound of Pam’s voice and turned to find Pam brandishing an old hairdryer.

‘Oh, Pam hi.’

’It’s ok Father, sorry you went to the trouble, but I don’t want a cup to tea,’ she was looking down at the tray with two cups on it.

‘Ah, ok Pam, no worries,’ he found it was easier to not correct Pam usually.

‘Once I’ve done the candles, I’ve got a couple of light bulbs to change and then I’ll be heading out to my weekly book club.’

‘Sounds good Pam, thanks so much,’ he grabbed the milk out of the fridge and poured a splash into each tea cup.

Pam was still staring at him. As if waiting for him to finish a sentence.

He looked up at her brightly, ‘anything else I could help you with Pam?’

‘No, no nothing father. Looks like your eye is going down a little,’ she gestured to his bruised eye with the hairdryer and shifted slightly from one foot to the other. ‘Well, better get on with it.’

With that she headed out of the room. He frowned slightly. He always felt like Pam was judging him a little. Like he didn’t quite live up to her expectations of what a priest should be like.

Picking up the tray of tea, he headed back towards the vestry. She was sitting at the table, eyes closed, holding one of his bibles up to her face. Was she smelling it? He smiled slightly at the sight. She obviously hadn’t heard him come back in.

’Tea!’ He called out loudly hoping to interrupt her private time with his scriptures.

***

God, he was such a dork. He usually managed to hide it. Kind of. His parishioners liked his restaurant reviews, but when she had picked up his notebook, the idea of her reading the review filled him with dread. She was cool. She radiated it. She had seemed quite tense though, he thought, as he had offered her a gin and tonic. A little stand offish. It was in keeping with how she had been the entire night at the restaurant. Closed off, and a little uncertain of whether she actually wanted to be there or not.

But she had come to his church voluntarily, he reminded himself, as he gathered up a couple more boxes of bric-a-brac ahead of tomorrow’s fundraiser.

‘What’s happened to this?’ Once again, Pam knocked him out of his reverie. It was the afternoon, she had returned from her book club meeting and was holding up the stained purificator he had used to wipe the spilt tea with earlier.

‘Ah, um I had an accident with my tea cup earlier,’ he looked away from her gaze awkwardly. He felt like a little boy who was about to admonished by their parent.

‘Ok, well I can wash it with the other items from this morning’s service.’

‘Thanks Pam,’ he smiled at her sheepishly.

He’d knocked almost an entire cup of tea over, he remembered. Such a fucking dork, He knelt down to move some donations into a box. Why did she make him so nervous? They’d barely spoken for God’s sake.

He sat back on his heels and pictured her face. She’d seemed surprised when he had mentioned her baby. Maybe she hadn’t expected him to remember. She’d told him the father didn’t exist. There had been a hint of sadness in her eyes as she said it. It had been one of the only times she hadn’t completely closed off from him. He thought it had been sadness anyway, he couldn’t help but think there had been a hint of derision mixed in.

_“He doesn’t really exist…”_

So no boyfriend then, presumably. That meant she must have spent that evening after her miscarriage alone, he thought. Or with a stranger…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bible she had been smelling earlier that day. He wondered absentmindedly whether she had been religious as a child. There must be some religious background because, as he’d learned at dinner, her stepmother-to-be was actually her Godmother. Maybe it had been her actual mother who had taken them to church, he thought, picking up the bible and letting it fall open in his hands.

 _“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”_ Corinthians 13:13

It was a favourite of his. Three things he strove for. He looked around the vestry, it was mostly organised and ready to be taken out to the church gardens the next day.

‘Pam, I’m going to head to the house and work on my sermon for tomorrow, you ok here?’

‘Yes love, we’re nearly set now, you go on,’ she was tidying up his stack of bibles into a cupboard. She hated how messy he let this place get at the best of times, so he could only imagine how she could be feeling with all the fete stuff lying around.

He headed to the rectory, bible in hand, humming to himself. It was so nice out, he glanced up towards the sky as he walked up the pathway to the house. So peaceful.

Inside, he rooted around in the coffee table drawer for a highlighter and plonked himself back onto the sofa. He’d told her she could help out at the fundraiser the next day and then immediately regretted it. He wondered if she would see through his embarrassment and actually take him up on his offer.

He opened the bible to the Corinthians passage again and uncapped the highlighter. It was for a misguided parishioner, he told himself as he began highlighting some passages. So what that this particular parishioner was a self declared atheist and didn’t technically live in his parish. He could still help out a friend by giving her some suggested reading, couldn’t he?

 _“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”_ Romans 12:18

He wondered if she would be offended by that one, given her clear penchant for hitting her brother-in-law.

 _“Above all else, guard you heart, for everything you do flows from it.”_ Proverbs 4:23

He smiled slightly at this one. She probably didn’t need this advice. In fact, maybe, he thought, she would benefit more from the opposite. He moved on.

 _“Let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance.”_ Proverbs 1:5

Another of his favourites. It was something he spoke of often in his sermons when he wanted to move away from the subjects of faith and love, the power of knowledge. He felt it was important for his parishioners not to just believe in blind faith, but to really understand and learn.

Happy with the various passages he had highlighted, he took the bible to his room and placed it on the desk by his door. He would take it out with him tomorrow, just in case she came, he thought with a smile.

***

The morning following his mass service had been hectic. Pam was truly everywhere. As he tried to arrange the handful of volunteers who had stayed after mass to help him set up, every time he turned around, it seemed like Pam was there.

‘Father, do you need help carrying those boxes?’ (He didn’t)

‘Father, we have a situation with the tombola.’ (The raffle tickets had been misplaced.)

‘Father, where are the coconuts?’ (They were on the table in front of her.)

When it finally got to 1pm and some guests started arriving, he let out a sigh of relief that he had been holding in all morning. They had managed to get everything set up, by the power of God, he thought, and the stalls were ready to raise some much needed funds for the parish. He stood in the shade, surveying the fete. It actually looked good if he said so himself. Although, one thing missing was that painting he had been promised as a prize from the couple he was going to be marrying.

‘Father,’ it was Beryl, one of the members of his congregation. ‘Come and have a go on the coconuts with me.’

He smiled at her and began to head over towards the coconut stand. There had been a slight disagreement over this particular stall as one of his parishioners, Bertie, had ended up hiring the coconuts which meant no one could actually win them and take them home. In the end though, due to lack of other ideas, and after fierce debate with Pam, Bertie had won out, and to give him credit, it did seem to be a popular booth.

‘Hello.’

He heard a voice behind him. His stomach flipped slightly as he recognised who it was and turned.

She was standing a few feet away, grinning and holding what seemed to be her Godmother's painting. It was _very_ red.

‘I brought this, and thought I could help out if you need,’ she said by way of explanation.

He took a few involuntary steps towards her, ‘hello.’

***

He laughed as one of his parishioners made a joke about bananas. Where was she? He hadn’t seen her in a while, maybe not since he had realised Harry was her ex-boyfriend. Harry had a baby of his own. He wondered whether he was also the father of the baby she had lost. That would be painful for her, he thought, sighing. His eyes darted around the remaining group of people at the fete as he wondered if she had already left.

Focussing back on the conversation at hand, it seemed the group of women had now moved their conversation onto their health regime.

‘Father, what do you do? _Can_ priests go to the gym?’ One of the women asked with a head tilt and a small giggle.

‘Father, I think your friend has one of the coconuts,’ Pam pushed gently into the circle and interrupted before he could reply.

Oh fuck.

‘Ok Pam, thanks I’ll get it.’ He turned to the group, ‘excuse me ladies.’

They smiled back at him in unison.

He turned to look for her. He could see her chatting to Harry by the corner of the church, coconut in her hand which she habitually turned over in her palm.

The bible! Suddenly he remembered the bible he had marked up for her the night before. In all the confusion of the set up, he’d left it in his room. Did he have time to run and get it? She looked to be mid conversation. He turned and sprinted to the rectory, nearly bumping into Mr Hall, one of his elderly parishioners, and calling his apologies as he hurried off.

He ran up the stairs, taking each step two at a time and grabbed the bible from his desk. Sprinting back down, he saw her disappearing round the side of the church and ran after her. As he turned the corner, he tried to put on a somewhat casual jog, keen to avoid any potential snide comment on him running after her.

‘Hey,’ he called out to her, trying hard to catch his breath.

***

He climbed into his bed that evening at around 9.15. Ever since the drunken dream he had had of her, he had been trying to go to bed earlier and without having any alcohol. It had been the last whisky, he reasoned that had tipped him over the edge into the realm of a near miss sex dream and he certainly did not want the torment of waking up with a boner again because of her. Very infrequently since joining the priesthood had he questioned the vow of celibacy. It felt natural to him as a way of loving people in the right way and loving God completely. But at times like this, as the image of her telling him about the origins of the red painting drifted into his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder whether complete celibacy was all it was cracked up to be.

_“She actually orgasmed… when she finished it.”_

He sighed and rolled onto his side, pulling the duvet roughly up under his arm. This bloody woman and her bloody inappropriate comments, he thought huffily. He wondered if she would take him up on his offer to come by the church. He felt like whenever he wasn’t with her, she entered his thoughts far too frequently and all he could do was pray he wouldn’t see her too often. But then when she was in front of him, why did he keep asking her to come back? It just seemed to come out of his mouth involuntarily. Maybe she wouldn’t take him up on the offer. Maybe she would be scared away by his bible, never to return. He had a sinking feeling, as he fell asleep, that that wouldn’t be the case.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit shorter, but Ep three is light on priest action. 
> 
> Dw though, the next chapter will be HEAVY ON PRIEST ACTION
> 
> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> thanks for reading and commenting.
> 
> Stay safe folks.

**Chapter Three - Fucking foxes**

He spent the day visiting some home bound parishioners.

First was Mr Burton. He had recently moved to a care home and was finding it hard to get to the church for his weekly confession.

Next was Mrs “ _call me Sylvie”_ Green, a recent widower, who had twisted her ankle whilst walking her dog. He loved the way her face lit up when she answered the door.

‘Come in, come in, Father. Don’t mind Russell,’ she gestured towards a small yapping dog who was jumping up his legs, ‘he thinks he’s big and scary, but really he’s harmless.’

She hobbled on her crutches down the hallway into the living room and sank back into an armchair.

Following her through, he noticed the wedding picture on her wall, a very young Sylvie gazing up lovingly at a young Mr Green, whom he had met a couple of times before his passing. They were slightly bent over stature.

Russell, the terrier, was sitting in the living room doorway, wagging his tail frantically against the floor and barking.

He headed down the hallway and placed the box of cookies, that Pam had baked for him to bring, onto the table in the living room.

‘Would you mind making me a cup of tea dear?’ Sylvie waved at him from her seat. ‘I struggle to get up and I haven’t had one all morning.’

‘Of course, of course, and do ye have a plate, I’ll lay out some cookies.’

‘Yes, top shelf deary.’

As he waited for the kettle to boil and searched for the teabags, he felt a sudden unease fall over him. What was that? he wondered, as he located a box of PG Tips and placed them the counter.

The tea. Last time he’d made some had been for her. He pulled slightly at the collar round his neck as he remembered. He’d spilt it everywhere. So embarrassing, he thought, trying to brush her out of his mind. He was distracted by the sound of paws against the linoleum and he turned to see Russell bounding into the kitchen. Russell jumped up, placing his front paws onto his knees and he leant down and rubbed his hands between Russell’s ears.

‘Can you grab him a biscuit out of the bottom cupboard, Father?’ He heard Syvlie call from the other room.

After locating the biscuit, he crouched down and tickled Russell behind his ears. The dog wagged his tail gleefully and licked his hand.

‘You’re a peaceful, happy little chap, aren’t ye fellow?’ He muttered, staring into the dogs brown eyes.

Russell barked and ran off to his owner, tail wagging.

He stood back up and turned to the counter, stirring the tea absent mindlessly. These past few days, he’d had an increasing sense of unease, like the one with the tea just now, fall over him at the oddest moments.

Earlier Pam had come round carrying a stack of bibles from the Communion classes he had been conducting and he’d had an unsettling urge to yank one from the top and sniff the pages.

And he hadn’t been able to get that phrase out of his head.

_“She had an orgasm when she finished it.”_

Her face as she said it. Like she knew she shouldn’t be, like she knew talking to a priest about sex was not allowed. Yet she did it anyway.

He picked up the two tea cups and carried them through to the living room.

‘Tea!’ He called cheerfully to a waiting Sylvie.

Sitting down, with Russell jumping immediately onto his lap, he settled in for a chat.

****

He had stayed much longer than he meant to. He was due at the church in less than 30 minutes for a meeting with a family who were new to the parish, but every time he had tried to leave, Mrs Green had started a new story or asked for another drink or made a comment about how she hated to be alone and he hadn’t been able to bear to leaving her.

So now he was in a hurry and as he sprinted down the road towards the bus stop, two people, who were pressed up against a wall, suddenly sprang apart as they saw him coming. He veered off to the side of the pavement to avoid a crash and tripped slightly on some uneven paving. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he called to them, before picking up his run.

‘God, we’re so sorry!’ He heard one of them call after him.

‘You can’t say God to a priest,’ the other one huffily reprimanded their partner as he turned a corner.

Sitting in the bus stop shelter and panting slightly after his run, he looked up at the arrivals board. His bus was due in 1 minute. Good timing, he glanced skywards in appreciation. That couple had probably been put off from their make out session by the dog collar, he thought, no couple wants to make out in front of a priest.

After, what felt like, a very long minute, the bus pulled up and he jumped on board, saying “hi” to the driver and heading towards the back. As he sat down, a large blue advert stared back at him, pasted haphazardly onto the back of the stairs.

“We’re fak  
-ing it.”

The advert said.

He let out a small snort of laughter, and shook his head, as he realised it was an advert for Durex condoms. He looked back up at the advert, still smiling and read the text at the bottom of the poster:

“2/3 of us are not fully satisfied with our sex lives.”

He pressed his fingers together into a V shape and looked down at his lap. Was she one of those two thirds, he wondered, before quickly pushing the thought out of his head.

Why had his mind gone straight to her? It must have been her comment on orgasms. He didn’t usually have errant thoughts about his parishioners sex lives. He frowned slightly.

‘Awful isn’t it, Father,’ a lady with jet black hair pulled into a tight bun had leaned across the aisle and was gesturing towards the advert. ‘We shouldn’t have to see this sort of thing on our bus journeys,’ she tutted and leaned back in her seat, shaking her head.

‘Oh,’ he looked at the advert and then back towards the lady, ‘I think it’s -‘

‘Just terrible, yes,’ the lady interrupted him and then jumped up out of her seat. ‘Well, have a lovely day, Father,’ she smiled a tight lipped smile and headed towards the exit at the back of the bus.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. As a priest, should his immediate reaction have been one of disapproval at an advert for safe sex? Or maybe of concern? Despite his church’s views on the matter, he felt neither. And why had he immediately thought of her?

***

He finished his evening prayer and sank into his bed, happy to be under the warm duvet. He had ended up making it back to the church for his appointment with the Kerry family just in time. A young couple with two young children under five, they had seemed friendly and very stressed. A solid reminder of why he wasn’t particularly upset about having no children of his own. That evening, Pam had cooked them a chicken stew for dinner, so he was pleasantly full and content as he settled into bed. He glanced over at his alarm clock. 9.20. Switching off his light, he closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep.

_He was dreaming of Pam. She was calling him and throwing cupcakes on the floor. Each time they hit, the sound of a bell chimed._

_‘Father, Father,’ she screamed, slamming her hands on the table. ‘Father, we’ve a situation over here, Father.’_

_He took a step towards her, breaking into a run and bumping straight into Harry, an infrequent church goer, who had attended his fundraiser. Harry was wearing a baby carrier. A small black dog popped out of it and barked loudly, licking Harry’s face._

_‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said to Harry._

_‘Father,’ Pam called, she was still throwing cupcakes, over and over and over._

_Why was she doing that? Were those cupcakes making that ringing noise? No, it wasn’t them._

His eyes flew awake and he realised someone was ringing the doorbell outside the front door just below his bedroom window. Had he overslept? Surely not. And even if _he_ had, Pam wouldn’t have, he thought. But it was dark out. He hadn’t overslept. Rubbing his eyes confusedly, he switched on the lamp by his bed and looked at the clock. 9.45. Oh, he’d barely been asleep for 30 minutes. What was that noise?

The doorbell. Suddenly he jumped out of bed. It must be one of his parishioners. Who would be banging on his door at 9.45? It must be someone who needed help.

He bounced down the stairs and flung the door open. The brightness of the light above his door assaulted his eyes and he blinked her into view.

***

He let himself back into his house, turning to wave as she headed down the garden path.

‘See you tomorrow,’ she called as she retreated into the darkness.

Shutting the door behind him, he leant back against it and put his head in his hands. Fucking foxes. Why had he told her about the fucking foxes? She had looked at him like he was a crazy person. He _was_ a crazy person. But that fucking fox had crept out of the bushes when they were sitting there. Granted it hadn’t actually come near them. It had merely scurried from one bush into another. But still. A fucking fox.

He locked the door and headed up the stairs slowly, hand trailing up the banister. That had been unexpected. He wondered why she had decided to come and see him at 9.45 on a Wednesday night, instead of seeing one of her friends. She knew she wasn’t getting anything out of him other than friendship and some guidance. _That_ he had resolutely confirmed, as she gazed at him and asked him about love.

And she’d brought up his celibacy. On the very day he had nearly run straight into an impassioned couple _and_ seen an advert about condoms.

‘What are you trying to tell me?’ He muttered out loud, glancing upwards.

He pulled off his sweater and threw it over his chair, jumping quickly into his bed.

_“What if you meet someone you love?”_

What if he did? It wasn’t a thought that had crossed his mind in the years since he had joined the seminary. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had some experience in that department in his old life. If anything, he probably had more than most. More than he would care to admit to anyone now, certainly. But it hadn’t felt like a sacrifice to give up love, or romantic relationships, or even sex, when he had realised that the priesthood was calling him. It had just been a fact. One that he knew was right because he knew he was meant to be a priest.

But what if he _did_ meet someone he loved?

He felt like he could still feel her leg against his as they had sat on the bench. She was persistent, he thought, as he snuggled back under his duvet, the couple of gins he’d consumed fuzzing his mind slightly. She had probed about his past life and joked about his future hypothetical children. She was persistent and captivating. He couldn’t wait to hear what she would say next.

Their decision that they would be friends had led to plans for her to help him pick his vestments the next day, for her father’s wedding. He liked the idea of a friend. Really he only had Pam and she could get on the nerves of even the most patient of people. Even Saint Monica would find it challenging, he mused, as he rolled onto his side.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep a dreamless sleep. But his mind was filled with her. Where did she go when she disappeared mid conversation? Was it a defence mechanism? She seemed to leave him when he delved too deep, or said something she didn’t like. Maybe it was her way of keeping him out. He didn’t like that. He wanted to know everything. If he knew everything, he thought drily, maybe then he wouldn’t lay awake at night thinking about her. He wondered whether she had gone straight home, or whether he had sent her off into the arms of someone else. He turned over again, slamming his face down onto his pillow a little harder than he’d meant to.

She’d read the bible he gave him, and critiqued it. He loved that she’d taken the time to read it. He’d half expected her to chuck the bible in the bin on her way home from the church. He smiled to himself in the dark, finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

***

_She was sitting on the bench next to him. Her can of G &T was on the little table in front of them._

_She was gazing at him. ‘What if you meet someone you love?’ she asked, leaning a fraction closer, her eyes darted to his lips and back up again._

_‘I have,’ he breathed quietly. He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating a rejection to his sudden declaration of love._

_Suddenly he felt the bench creak, and then her lips were on his, sending a jolt of electricity through him as she put her hand on his thigh. She pulled back slightly. ‘I have too,’ she, whispered before pressing her lips back on his._

_He brought his hand up to her chin, softly stroking the smooth skin and hearing her sigh softly as he ran his other hand through her hair down to the back of her neck._

_But then leaned back. Shocked at a sudden loss of contact on his lips, his eyes sprang open. She was staring at him._

_‘We’re not gonna have sex,’ she said firmly, removing her hand from his leg and pushing his hand off her neck._

For the second time that evening, he jolted awake, staring at the ceiling, heart beating rapidly.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for reading. Smut is a-coming. Next chapter, they gonna bone.
> 
> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe folks.

**Chapter Four - Whiskey with a splash of regret**

He looked in the mirror, bringing his hand up in an attempt to flatten the flyaway hair sticking up at the back of his head. They had agreed to be friends. It brought a lovely fluttery sensation to his stomach when he thought of it.

He was wearing his black clerical shirt and dog collar. He’d already changed out of it once that morning, following mass, into a plain grey t shirt and jeans, and, after a lot of back and forth, had changed back into it again. They were going to be friends. But priest and parishioner friends. He should wear the collar when they met up.

He reached his hand up to pull at the dog collar and sighed. What was he trying to prove? She knew he was a priest. Did he need the collar on really?

No. Decision made. He didn’t need the collar. They were going shopping for vestments for Christ’s sake. If there was anything more churchy than that, he’d like to know what it was.

He yanked the collar undone and undid the buttons on the shirt. He still had his black undershirt on. It was a snug fit. Maybe he could just wear a sweater over that. Opening his wardrobe, he pulled out a light blue sweater and threw it on over the black t shirt.

Grabbing his phone and realising the time, he rushed quickly towards the door. He didn’t have her number, so he _ha_ d to be there on time. He didn’t want her thinking he had bailed on the outing. Heading down the stairs two steps at a time, it crossed his mind that she could bail on the outing. She’d had a couple of G&T’s last night before agreeing to meet him. Maybe she had woken up this morning and decided she wasn’t all that keen on going shopping for priest’s vestments.

‘Oh hello Father, you off out?’ Pam was sitting in her usual spot.

‘Yes Pam, meeting a friend.’

She raised her eye slightly, ‘a friend, how lovely. Someone from the church?’

‘Not really,’ he grabbed his coat off the hook by the door.

‘Good good, home for dinner?’ She was eyeballing him suspiciously. Nothing new, she seemed to find everything he did vaguely suspicious.

‘I’m not sure Pam, I’ll let ye know, ok?’

‘Of course,’ she turned back to her book with a nod.

‘Bye Pam,’ he opened the door.

‘Enjoy yourself, Father,’ she replied.

Heading to the bus stop, he tilted his head slightly towards the sky. He could hear birds tweeting and a child laughing somewhere down the street. What a lovely day to be alive.

***

He jumped off the bus, calling out a thank you to the driver and crossed the street. There she was, waiting just as they had planned, outside a little coffee shop. She had on a striped top, Another striped top. She’d been wearing one the day she came to his church as well, he recalled. And she was glancing from side to side, clearly on the look out for him.

‘Hello,’ he caught her by surprise.

‘Hi,’ she smiled at him, gripping her bag handle.

‘You came!’ He wanted to give her a hug, he leaned in slightly, but she was eyeing him warily. He quickly changed track and placed his hand on her arm briefly, before pointing in the way of the shop.

‘It’s this way,’ he began walking down the crowded street and she fell in step beside him. ‘Thanks for coming, you can help me pick something your stepmother will like.’

‘She’s not my stepmother,’ she was staring straight ahead.

‘Stepmother to be then. So, how was your morning?’

‘Um, good. Yeah, I was at the cafe for the morning rush.’

‘Good, so it was busy then? You’re sure it’s not too much of a bother to not be there now?’ He wondered whether she had someone looking after it for her. He didn’t like the idea of inconveniencing her.

‘No, I needed a break anyhow.’

‘Ok,’ he glanced up to the shop sign. ‘We’re here. After you.’

He followed her in to the shop. It was quiet and still. A shocking contrast to the busy street outside. There was an assistant standing behind a counter. He had white fluffy hair and a brown suit on. He looked at them curiously, staring at her with a concerned look in his eye.

‘Hello,’ he stepped forward from behind her and greeted the assistant. ‘I called you yesterday, I’m the priest at St Ethelred’s and I’m looking for a new set of robes.’

‘Ah of course,’ the assistant stepped out from behind the counter and began walking towards the back of the shop. ‘My name is Sylvester. If you’d like to follow me. And your...’ he looked at her again.

‘... friend. My friend is going to help me pick something out,’ he grinned widely at the man. He didn’t suppose many women accompanied Catholic priests on their shopping trips.

‘Yes, your friend can sit just here,’ Sylvester gestured to a bench in the changing room.

‘Thank you very much.’ He was starting to feel nervous now. Sure, she’d seen him in his full get up when she’d come to his mass service, but this was slightly different. He felt his cheeks colour slightly as he stepped into the changing room, where Sylvester had already hung out his selections, before shuffling off back to the front of the shop.

She sat down on the bench and crossed one leg over the other, watching him expectantly.

‘Back in a minute,’ he smiled at her, before pulling the curtain shut.

He pulled his sweater and jeans off suddenly becoming acutely aware of why priests probably didn’t bring their female friends to help them pick out vestments. There was a very thin curtain separating them and his heart pounded as he thought about how close she was to him as he grabbed the robes and pulled them on. He turned and surveyed himself in the mirror, silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer to himself as he tidied up the outfit. It was a habit he’d picked up when buying his first set of robes and he liked the idea now, of feeling closer to God when trying on new sets.

He liked this one. It was cream, with gold and red and green detail down the middle and a beautiful red inner fabric.

‘Are you done?’

The voice from the other side of the curtain shocked him out of his reverie. Sometimes he just got so carried away with these clothes.

‘Yeah, I’m not sure about the sleeves though,’ he pulled the curtain back.

She smiled, taking in the outfit. ‘It’s lovely. It looks good.’

Was he sensing sarcasm? He couldn’t work her out. ‘You think?’

‘Yes absolutely. I love the red.’

‘Me too,’ he held his arms up, ‘I think the sleeves need to be taken in a bit?’

She surveyed him, a serious expression on her face. Her eyes were darting up and down the robe. ‘Yeah, maybe. Just how taken in can the sleeves be?’ Her mouth curved into a sly smile.

‘Well, not much more,’ ok he was sensing some sarcasm from her now. ‘I’ll show you another one.’

He backed into the dressing room and pulled the curtain shut. He pulled the robe off gently and hung it back up before turning to the second one.

He smiled softly to himself, he liked being her friend.

***

He walked into the Quaker meeting hall eagerly, glancing back to check she was following him.

After trying on one more robe, he had made his decision and gotten a couple of measurements taken to have the first robe he’d tried taken in slightly. She had waited patiently, watching him as Sylvester had turned him and measured, silently humming to himself as he worked.

Officially, they had met up to go robe shopping. So as they had exited the store, he had wondered if she would make her excuses and leave, now that the mission was complete. But she hadn’t shown any signs of leaving, so as they walked down the road chatting, a sense of ease in their conversation, he had jumped on the chance to show her the Quaker house.

They entered the meeting hall and he headed towards his usual chair, gesturing to her that she should pick a seat.

She sat down and he settled comfortably into his seat. He almost found this more comforting that his own church. There, he had responsibilities and accountability to his parishioners. Here, he was anonymous. Just a man searching for a connection to the spirit and working his way towards peace.

He could see her out of the corner of his eye. She was diagonally opposite from him. She was doing the thing. The thing he had noticed before, where she disappeared into herself. He had thought it was a defence mechanism. Or an avoidance technique for when people delved too deeply. But no one was talking, she had no one to hide from in here. Maybe now, she was trying to avoid her own thoughts, get out of her own head.

His mind drifted slowly and soon enough, he fell into the meditative state he usually got into when he was alone with his scriptures. It was calming, peaceful. His eyes were lazily focussed on the ceiling rafters as his mind wondered serenely. The sounds of the occasional cough or chair creak were drowned out in this tranquil state and he was soothed by the sensation. His mind was clear and he…-  
Movement in the corner of his eye jolted him rudely out of his serene state. She was standing up. What was she doing? he clasped his hands together on his lap as she spoke. He stifled a laugh, looking down into his lap and then back up at her, eyes bright with mirth.

***

The cafe door jangled as he shut it behind him. It had been an hour or so since they had left the Quaker Hall. She had taken him to her cafe. As expected, he had loved it. But now, this abrupt ending to their day had left a sour taste in his mouth. She hadn’t even turned to say goodbye to him. She had just dismissed him. No looking back.

He walked slowly down the street, meandering aimlessly between other passing pedestrians. His heart felt heavy, weighed down with the heated exchange they had just had. Really, he’d like to go to the Quaker hall. He needed some calm after that unsettling interaction. But he couldn’t really go back there again. Definitely not today, and maybe not for a few weeks, following her amusing but slightly inappropriate confession.

He rubbed his eyes roughly. What had happened? They had been getting along fine. He smiled as he remembered her wide grin as she watched him play with Hilary.

She hadn’t even given him a chance. She had just dismissed him. He wandered senselessly for a while. Replaying the scene over in his mind. He hadn’t meant to be “churchy”, he hadn’t meant to be anything. He had just desperately wanted to know more about her. How could this woman, with this weird and wonderful, kooky cafe, and with this amazing mind, and this charming smile and generous spirit be friendly and welcoming one minute and then the next… shut him out? Just like that, no regrets.

He reached up to his neck, grappling to loosen a collar that wasn’t actually there. Sometimes it was like a reflex. A reflex against the ever so slight constraint he felt when he was wearing his collar. He wanted a drink. If he couldn’t go to the Quaker House, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to pray, then he wanted a drink.

But he had to take confession. He was due at the church in an hour for confession hours. He sighed forcefully and headed to the bus stop.

***

Forty-five minutes later, in the vestry, he changed into his cassock ahead of the confession hours. Maybe he could have a quick drink. Just a small one. To settle himself. He was still feeling agitated from the disagreement they had had. He couldn’t get it out of his head. She had just gotten up, snatched the guinea pig and turned away from him. He felt like he had gotten to know her so well over the short time since they had met, and yet he barely knew anything about her. He knew exactly what _she_ wanted him to know and nothing more.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer and poured himself a drink. One would be fine. It would help to clear his mind and get him in a good mindset to take confessions. He owed it to his parishioners to be fully present for them. He knocked back the shot in one and then headed out to the church, climbing into the booth and pulling the wooden door shut, pushing his own worries out of his head. He leaned his head back against the hard wall of the booth, willing himself to be ready to take in, and reflect on, the worries of others.

***

Confession had taken a painstaking two and a half hours. And finally, after the last poor soul had been given their penance, he retreated to the vestry. He didn’t want to see Pam. She would want to talk about their respective days and, knowing the glint she had had in her eyes earlier that day, would probably want to know exactly which friend he had been meeting, given she knew that he had made precisely zero friends since moving to the parish a few months ago.

The whiskey and tumbler were sitting right where he had left them before confession. He poured himself a glass and took a sip. And just like that, despite hours of hearing other people’s problems, blessing them, feeling their pain and helping them to move on, the taste of whiskey brought back one thing. Her.

He sat down abruptly in the chair, yanking at his collar in his cassock and throwing it aside. He couldn’t understand her. Why had she shut him out like that? He had been just trying to help. Hadn’t he? What exactly had he been doing? He gulped back his drink and poured out a new one immediately, staring into the amber liquid.

They were friends.

Were they friends?

He hadn’t had a friend in years. But friends were supposed to talk, ask each other about their lives. Weren’t they? Had he overstepped? Maybe he _had_ been a little “churchy”. But friends were supposed to call each other on their bullshit. And she had been hiding something. Exactly what she had been hiding, he wasn’t exactly sure. But she had been hiding something.

A few more glasses in and he was starting to feel a little unsteady. Why had God sent her to him, he pondered as he ambled around the room. God knew she was here. He had made that painting drop to the floor on the day she had been in this very room. Had He sent her as a test, he wondered, as he raked his hand through his hair. Why would He test him? He was a good man, he was kind and loving and devoted to God and he was generous and kind towards people. He longed for people to be happy. He longed for her to be happy. But she didn’t seem to be happy. She was intriguing, she was funny and clever and beautiful. But she wasn’t happy. He could sense it. A kindred spirit.

And she wanted to be his friend. She wanted him. She wanted more than friendship. She had all but said so that night at his house. He allowed himself to picture her. What if he just did it? What if he just gave in and kissed her. What then? He looked up angrily.

‘What would you do then?’ He whispered softly towards the ceiling.

An image of her earlier that day came into his mind, walking next to him as they left the quaker hall, his sleeve brushing on her arm.

_His beautiful neck._

She _had_ said that, he hadn’t imagined it. What if he had just grabbed her there and then and pressed his lips against hers. What if he had pulled her into him, running his hands down her waist and forcing her closer, her body against his as his tongue pushed against her lips and…

‘But that’s not what you want, is it?’ He said aloud, a trace of bitterness in his voice as he poured himself another drink.

Why was she here, in his life? He hadn’t asked for her. She had crashed in, had battered her way through the walls he put up to avoid getting emotionally involved in other people’s lives. And for what? So she could say she’d fucked a priest? Was he some sort of game to her, he angrily slammed his glass down, the amber liquid sloshed around in the tumbler.

Maybe this wasn’t God’s doing. Maybe this was all her. She had wilfully disregarded all common decency, she had plagued him. Had he encouraged her? In his muddled state, he couldn’t even remember. Not on purpose certainly. So why was she doing this? Why was she telling him about orgasm paintings and talking about her tits as if he could do anything BUT picture them the minute the words came out of her mouth? She was taunting him. Testing him to see how far he would go.

He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes forcefully, willing her to get out of his mind. Who did she think she was?

His heart was racing, he was infuriated. She was infuriating.

After a few moments, he put his hands down, blinking at the light. His heart was pounding in his chest. She wasn’t doing this on purpose. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t cruel. Besides she had just suffered a loss. Her baby. Perhaps she was still coming to terms with it, and he hadn’t even asked her about it, asked her how she was coping.

A wave of guilt flooded over him, replacing the sheer anger of moments ago, as he thought of her now. Hurt that he had left her at the cafe. Hurt that he had given up so easily. Alone maybe? Or maybe she was with her friend? The one who she had set up the cafe with. None of this was her fault though. It was on him. He knew his vows. He knew what he had to do to keep them. And following sexy, witty, complex and completely infuriating women around London all day was not something he should have been doing. He poured the last of the whiskey into his glass. She had come to to him because she had needed a friend. For guidance. And here he was, getting angry at her because he had… what? A crush? A fascination? An infatuation?

She had done nothing to deserve that. He should have been providing her with someone to confide in. He shouldn’t have probed at her, demanding she tell him everything. It wasn’t what she needed, he sighed. It was what _he_ had wanted. He had wanted her to tell him. Because he had wanted to know everything he possibly could about her.

His mind was racing. He had drank half a bottle of whiskey and hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Anxiety and fury towards himself were creeping in now. His brother had always called him Piglet when he was a little boy. After the little animal in Winnie the Pooh who was always stuttering and anxious. And excessive drink on an empty stomach had always seemed to make him even more anxious. He wondered whether she was still angry at him. Or upset. Would the next time they saw each other be at her dad’s wedding? He didn’t like the thought of that. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to talk to her. He picked up his phone before realising lamely that he didn’t have her number. His thoughts were still racing.

Why had she offered to come and pick out vestments with him? That was as “churchy” as you could get. Maybe she did just want to be his friend after all. Maybe he had read way more into it. He’d never been vestment shopping with a “friend” before. For his first ever set, he remembered sentimentally, he had taken a little trip, before he had even been ordained. And he couldn’t even wear it that often. Purple was only allowed during advent and lent. But God did he love that one. Would she like it? If she ever saw it. She had seemed to like the one he wore earlier. He had been half expecting her to laugh at him the entire time they were in the store, but she had been surprisingly earnest, inspecting the robes he tried on and offering her thoughts.

God, how had she made her way back into his head again? She seemed to just slip in, without his even realising it.

He strode over to the old radio by the door and flicked it on. Early 2000s pop blared out of the speakers and he tried to remember whether he had locked the church doors. Knowing his luck, Pam would probably come round to check on the noise and she’d find him half cut and dancing to cheesy pop. Oh well, he headed back to the table and picked up his glass swishing the drink around. He’d have to savour it, it was his last bottle and he hadn’t stocked up as he was technically trying to cut back on the alcohol. Especially after those dreams he’d kept having.

He brought the tumbler up to his lips and inhaled the smell deeply before knocking the liquid back. The cupboard! He had put a bottle in the cupboard a few weeks ago when he had been tidying the place up.

He tugged at the buttons round his neck and pulled the top of his cassock down slightly. Where was that bottle? Had he put it up on the top shelf? If she were here, she would help him get it down. Or she’d have brought G&T’s with her, like last time, he thought fondly. He jumped up, trying to locate the whiskey when suddenly the music stopped.

‘FUCK!’ He exclaimed, spinning on the spot.

***

FUCK

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He practically ran out of the church, heart racing, lips tingling from her touch. Fuck. What had he done? What had they done? He pushed the church doors openly roughly and strode across the garden to the house. Despite the whiskey he had been drinking, he felt completely sober. The picture. What had he done?

He reached the front door quickly, before realising he had left his keys and wallet in the vestry.

FUCK.

The house was in darkness. Pam would be asleep. He turned around and sat on the bench outside the front door. The one they had sat on only the night before. It had been easy, simple. Talking and laughing and drinking.

SO WHY HAD HE DONE THAT?!

He hadn’t been able to stop it. The minute she had come into the room, turning the music off and calling him “Father”, he had known he couldn’t stop it. It was like a pull towards her. An invisible thread yanking at him, forcing him closer until suddenly he couldn’t help himself.

He put his hand up to his lips softly, reliving the sensation of hers against him. His heart was still thudding against his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair before leaning forward, head in hands, elbows on knees. He had ruined everything. She had followed his lead. Yes, she had kissed him back, but at his initiation.

She had kissed him back. He remembered their bodies flush against each other, desperately trying to close any gaps,

Why had he told her to kneel? What had been his plan? He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t see past her face now. She was everywhere.

And what had she done when the painting had fallen? He couldn’t remember that either. It was a blur. Their bodies desperately pressing together, frantically scrabbling at his belt, clawing at each other, lips crushed together, his hands on her neck, her hands running through his hair. He sat back up and held a hand up to his racing heart.

FUCK.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This is my favourite episode (uncertain as to why ;) ) and incidentally, this is my longest chapter.
> 
> We got a bit of catholic guilt, another mention of the priest's muscles, I JUST LOVE ANDREW SCOTT’S MUSCLES OK, DON’T @ ME, and also, after careful study, I really think Flea would enjoy giving blowies.
> 
> Happy to hear your take on the subject.
> 
> In spite of many places, including my state, lifting their restrictions, i still implore you to   
> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe folks, thanks for reading.

**Chapter Five - Aftermath**

He pushed himself up off the bench, it felt like too much effort, like his body didn’t want to move. Taking a quick glance at the house, still in darkness, he walked slowly back towards the church. He’d been sat there for an hour at least. She must have gone.

He pushed the door to the church open and walked through the small entrance hall into the building. It smelt familiar, it was quiet, too quiet. The quiet usually brought him a sense of peace. Tonight, it was eerie. An unnatural calm settled over the pews and the alter and the confessional. A calm indicating she _had_ gone. Tonight, it felt claustrophobic. As he walked down the aisle towards the alter, his chest tightened and he raked his hands through his messy hair. The walls felt too close, images of Christ were staring at him, judging him. His footsteps echoed as he made the slow journey to the back of the church.

He paced slowly to the confessional and collected the two whisky glasses. One on each side of the booth, where they had both left them in their haste.

Fuck.

A feeling of dread… anxiety… swept over him as he remembered what they had done. What _he_ had done.

Heading into the vestry, he slammed the glasses on the table angrily, heart beating fast. What could he do? He couldn’t face himself after that. He had managed a decade of celibacy. A decade of keeping people at a distance. He hadn’t even known her a month. And she had swept right in and bulldozed his entire life.

He looked around the room and found the bottle of whisky he had poured for her earlier that night. Earlier that night. It felt like years ago. When he had sat and got drunk, cursing her existence, cursing his actions, begging Him for guidance. But it was only hours ago.

Pouring out the bottle into his tumbler, he sank into his seat heavily and laid his head on his arms. Should he forget the whole thing had ever happened? Erase this four hour window as a drunken fantasy that had gone too far. Or should he confess? He should confess. it was the only way to move on properly. He sighed and took a deep gulp of his drink.

He was leaning forward, arms crossed infront of him on the table, head rested on the cold wooden surface. He should head back to the rectory. He should stop drinking and start praying. He should stop dancing around his feelings. He didn’t do any of it. He could barely will himself to move.

***

He was awoken abruptly by a knock on the door.

‘Father?’

It was Pam. He gazed hazily around the room. He was still in the vestry, the sunlight was pouring in through the high windows.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Pam. In here,’ he called back, rubbing his pounding head.

She opened the door, ‘you were up and out early, Father. I barely heard you,’ she stopped abruptly when she caught the sight of him.

He didn’t want to know what he looked like. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, sickly face. Probably all of the above, given the way he felt. He couldn’t even remember falling asleep here. He had been drinking, thinking about the mess he had made, and then suddenly it was morning.

‘It’s half an hour until your service, Father,’ Pam eyed the glass of whisky near his hand, nearly empty with just a small drop of amber liquid in the bottom. ‘ Did you know?’

‘Sorry, Pam. I just got carried away with…’ he looked around for an excuse.

‘Not a problem, I’ll head out and see about setting up.’

She left the room quietly, closing the door behind her.

Fuck.

Did he have time to shower? He certainly didn’t have time to confess. He’d have to do that after he’d held mass. He hurried out the room, calling to Pam that he would be back in a few minutes and ran to the house. Jumping in the shower, he let the hot water scald him as he replayed the events of the previous night. What had he been thinking and why had he let it get so far? Thank God that painting had fallen when it did. He winced as he thought about how far he may have let it go with no intervention.

But enough was enough. He had let this go on too long. Let her in too closely. With her wry smile and cool gaze, she had slunk into his life, hammered down the emotional barriers he had been happily maintaining for the past ten years and he didn’t want it. He didn’t like it. Enough was enough.

He knew himself well enough that he couldn’t see her again, he thought, as he hurriedly threw on his black clerical shirt and pants and ran back to the vestry to put on his vestments. It hurt to think of her dad and her Godmother. He would have to get out of the wedding. He couldn’t stand at the top of an aisle, even if it was an aisle set up in a back garden, and perform a wedding, with her sitting in the pews, eyes glinting, knowing smile, as he spoke about love and the holy sacrament of marriage. The wedding was in only a couple of days. He had truly fucked it up for them. It was a mistake he would have to carry with him now. But he would rather carry the regret of disappointing them than risk seeing her again. He could repent for this. For a drunken kiss, for breaking his promise to marry this couple. But if he saw her again…. If he let anything happen, he couldn’t guarantee that he would be strong, he couldn’t guarantee that he would keep himself away from her. And that was something he couldn’t live with.

Mind made up, he began dressing for mass, his thoughts focussed on prayer.

***

It felt odd to be on this side of the confessional. It was so rare to be here, compared to how often he was on the other side of the grate. With an inwards sigh, he began, ‘bless me father for I have sinned. It has been two months since me last confession.’

‘Welcome child,’ the other priest replied. ‘May God, the father of all mercies, help you to make a good confession.’

‘Thank you,’ he paused. May as well just jump in, he thought wearily. ‘I’m a priest. I’ve taken the vow of celibacy, and last night I nearly broke it.’

‘Nearly broke it?’

‘Yes, nearly. I was stopped. By… by something. Something divine?’ He shook his head softly. ‘I would have let it happen. I wanted it to happen.’ He looked up at the grate. Silence met him from the other side.

‘I… I’m…’ he stopped.

‘Go on.’

‘I thought she was a friend. I was lonely. I was lonely and I wanted a friend. But I was mistaken. I let her in. Too close. She was on my mind… I was thinking about her. And she came to me. _She_ came to find _me_ ,’ he stressed it twice. It felt important somehow.

‘She’s intriguing. She challenges me, she makes me look deeper into my faith. I liked that. And I liked having someone there. A friend. Someone who responded.’

The other priest coughed gently.

‘Not that…’ he backtracked quickly, ‘not that I didn’t already have someone. Of course, I had Christ. And I’m grateful for his friendship, his guidance.’ He did wish Jesus would answer him sometimes, he thought glumly.

‘She came to me,’ he stressed it again. ‘But I wanted her to, I encouraged her to. I let her into my heart and I’m regretful.’

‘And have you had impure thoughts?’ The other priest asked quietly.

‘Yes, I have had impure thoughts. I’ve thought of her when I shouldn’t have. I’ve tried to push these thoughts from my mind. I’ve tried so hard,’ he faltered. She was there again. Front of mind, sparking eyes and wide grin, daring him to make her laugh, daring him to get closer.

‘Is she on your mind now?’

He shook his head again, as if the physical action could shake her straight out of his mind. ‘Yes, she’s there... she’s always there.’

‘This woman, has taken the place of Jesus Christ. You’ve forsaken him, allowed her to corrupt you against him.’

He started. Corrupt him? She wasn’t some evil temptress who had come in specifically to lead him astray. Corrupt was a bit extreme. Or maybe not. Maybe he wasn't taking this seriously enough.

‘But you can be forgiven, she needs to be removed from your life,’ the other priest finished.

‘What if...’ he couldn’t say it, could he? Not here.

The other priest was silent, waiting for him to speak.

‘What if I don’t want her gone?’ He exhaled and sat back against the hard wooden back.

‘Child,’ the other priest’s voice was softer, ‘I can’t change your feelings, or your thoughts. And neither can you. But you can change your actions. This woman should no longer have any place in your life. Your desire for her will fade. Your love for God, your love for Jesus Christ, that will live in you constantly. From this life to the next. Remember that.’

As the other priest gave him his penance, he sat up slightly. It _would_ fade. The desire would dull and eventually it would pass all together.

‘... and I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

It would pass.

‘Amen,’ he echoed.

***

He breathed a sharp sigh of relief as the front door shut behind him. He’d gotten through…-

‘What a CUNT!’

He winced. He deserved that. He _was_ a cunt, he wasn’t at all surprised. He wished she had just screamed at him. Instead of screaming behind his back. It was what he deserved. That and more.

He walked slowly down the street, passing a bus stop and crossing the road. His stomach rumbled. The priest had given him a hard penance. Fasting to battle lustful thoughts was fairly common and his prayer time had more than doubled compared to his usual practice. He looked forward to spending a great deal of his time with the Blessed Virgin Mary in the near future. But deep down inside, he knew he needed more than prayer and fasting to forgive this. Look what he had done to that family. Ruined a couple’s wedding the day before the event, and…

And _she_ had been there.

She had looked hurt. He hadn’t wanted to tell her this way. Surrounded by her entire family. But he’d had no choice. Even she had protested when he had said he would return later. And the look in her eyes, as he told them he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do what? Perform the ceremony? No. Be her friend? No. Get drunk and have sex with her? No. Fall in love with her? No. He couldn’t do any of these things. He just couldn’t do it.

He came to a stop near a set of terraced houses a few hundred metres from the bus stop. She would get the bus, wouldn’t she? After she had been painted. He had been intending to break it off with her dad and Godmother, wait a few days, allow everyone to cool off and then speak to her. Tell her they couldn’t be friends. He hadn’t counted on seeing her in her dad’s house. Looking as wrecked as he felt and carrying a ridiculous bouquet of flowers. No, he couldn’t leave it a few days now. He would have to talk to her. He needed to tell her… tell her she couldn’t come to his church anymore. Tell her she had to stay away, because he couldn’t see her, because he couldn’t be her friend. Because he was afraid of his actions around her, he was afraid of how she made him feel, he was afraid he had fallen in love with her…-

A rustle in the bushes startled him. A fox? He clapped his hand together in an attempt to shoo it away.

He had fallen in love with her? Where had that come from? He hadn’t fallen in love with her.

Suddenly she appeared, she was walking fast, practically jogging. She sat on the bus stop seat and her head fell into her hands. He pushed himself up off the wall he’d been leaning on and crossed the road slowly.

***

Ok, that was easier than he had expected it to be. She had been surprisingly placid. Hungover, he sensed based on the smell of booze emanating from every pore. He wondered who she had been out with the night before, as he had been safely tucked in his bed, repenting and trying to force images of her out of his mind. Was it a few drinks with some girlfriends? Or was it a date? There was that familiar sense of dread. Hitting him again, square in the chest. A date the night after she had been kissing him in his church?

_What if I don’t want her gone?_

_Your desire for her will fade…_

He clung to this thought as he went about his normal duties, smiling at Pam, exchanging pleasant conversation with parishioners. He thought of it as he met with a couple and their newborn to plan a baptism. He thought of it now, as he met with a couple looking to get married. They were young. They were ecstatic. The husband-to-be laughed nervously, held his fiancés hand tightly as they sat and gazed adoringly at her when she spoke. The wife-to-be was determined and serious, she had brought a paper planner with her, ready to mark down all the key dates. She said she’d been dreaming of this day since the moment she had met her fiancé.

His mind flew to the couple he had disappointed this morning. Their faces as he’d told them he couldn’t conduct their wedding the next day. What would they be doing now? Had they found someone to replace him? Probably not. He had put out some calls and come back with nothing. He didn’t imagine their luck to be any better. He was cancelling because he’d thought he couldn’t get through it with _her_ there. But how selfish was that. Looking across the desk at this fluttery couple, he realised he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he let something happen with her, but how could he forgive himself for letting them down like this? For putting his own needs first?

As soon as the young couple left his office, he picked up the phone and called them.

‘Oh my God, you wonderful wonderful man!’ came the shrill scream of delight from the other end of the phone as he told them he had rearranged his plans and would be able to officiate their wedding the next day.

‘Oh my, we’ll get straight back to finalising the plans. And we’ll see you here at noon,’ she hung up the phone abruptly.

He exhaled loudly.

_What if I don’t want her gone?_

He did want her gone. He wanted his peace back.

_Your desire for her will fade. It will pass._

He headed out to the church hall, where a class full of 7 year olds was waiting for him to conduct a communion session, their teachers sitting at the back, berating the loud ones and smiling at him as he entered.

Your desire for her will fade. It will pass, he repeated under his breath as he walked.

It will fade. Soon it will have passed.

***

By the end of the day, he was exhausted. All his energy had been sapped into focussing. Forcing her face out of his mind. Her face as she sat at the bus stop, joking about his robes. Her face as she held her hand to her chest, echoing him in his love for Piglet. Her face as she knelt, looking at up at him, waiting for him to help her. He was tired of her face. Barging into his mind whenever it felt like it. Calling for his attention, when his attention was deserved elsewhere.

He settled into a pew, getting ready to repeat a prayer, part of his penance from his confession the day before.

The prayer rolled off his tongue, it was familiar. He had said it an awful lot in the early days of his priesthood, when he had struggled the most with his celibacy ’…that I may advance with a pure heart in Your love and service, Offering myself on the most pure alter of Your divinity all of the days of my life. Amen.’

The words were barely off his tongue and she was back in his head again. Laughing at him as he told her about his fox problem, grinning at him from the other side of the Quaker Hall, trying to catch his eye.

He wanted her gone. He wanted his peace back, his lonely, easy, peaceful life.

He looked up towards the ceiling of the church, ‘Just get out,’ he whispered softly.

‘Just get out! Get out!’ He yelled, the words echoing in the high beams of the church. She laughed, shaking her head.

Maybe he should go and speak with her. Tell her why he couldn’t be with her. Tell her why he needed this life, with the church, with God. Maybe if he told her, she would leave his mind. Let him get on with it. He stood up, looking around the church, taking it in. He loved it here. He loved the smell, the quiet, the gentle calm in the air, telling him everything would be ok. She had no right to be here. In his church.

He strode out of the pew and down the aisle towards the exit. He would tell her. Tell her to leave him. He opened the door forcefully, tugging at the handle. A gust of wind blew into the church, slamming the door against the wall. It was raining. Raining hard. He peered out into the darkness, a rumble of thunder blew through the sky, followed by crash of lightning. He wasn’t deterred. He would tell her, he had to get this over with.

He hailed a cab and jumped in the backseat.

‘Where to mate?’ The driver turned to look at him.

Oh fuck. Where to? He didn’t know where she lived. And he had never gotten her number. She had to live somewhere near her cafe, right? He told the driver to head in the general direction of Hillary’s and pulled out his phone. He had Martin and Claire’s number, because of Jake. He’d just have to call Claire, hope she didn’t ask too many questions.

‘Hello?’ She answered on the first ring.

‘Claire, hi, how are you? it’s…-‘

‘Oh Father, hi,’ her voice changed. Like she knew something. Like her sister had maybe told her something?

‘Hi, look sorry to call so late…-’

‘No, no. it’s not a problem. How can I help you?’ She sounded bouncy. Very unlike the Claire he had met before.

‘I was just wondering, if it’s not too much of a hassle, if you could send me over your sisters address so I can…,’ he paused. Fuck, what was his excuse?

‘Yes, yes, of course I can. She mentioned the two of you had been seeing each other,’ it sounded like she was smirking, ‘she was seeing you for guidance of course, Father.’

‘Yes, she’s been coming to the church,’ he felt like a naughty child who’s parent had caught them out and was waiting for them to confess.

Claire was walking, he heard her open a door, ‘I have her address on my computer, I’ll send it over. You need it… now, do you?’ It was a loaded question.

‘Now would be grand, thanks Claire.’

‘Of course, and I heard you were doing the wedding. I’m so… pleased,’ she said, sounding anything but pleased.

‘Yes, I couldn’t find anyone to cover so I’ve had to rearrange my plans.’

‘Well, we’re very grateful to you, I’ll send this over now, bye.’ She hung up and within seconds a beep alerted him to a message containing the address.

He called it out to the cab driver and sat back, looking out of the window into the darkness, the driving rain beating on the window. By the time he arrived at her door, he had calmed slightly. He was ready to talk to her, tell her why he couldn’t see her. He pressed the buzzer and waited.

***

He tugged at the belt on her coat, pulling it open. She only had on underwear. He gulped, ‘oh. Um, ok.’ He took in the lacy black lingerie hungrily.

‘Listen,’ she looked at him awkwardly, ‘I had a - uh.’

It didn’t matter, he brought hs finger to his lips and shook his head. She closed her mouth, looking away for a second and then leaned in towards him, placing a soft kiss on her lips, cautious, questioning.

And then they were frantic. He grabbed her hair and eased his tongue in between her lips. He had control, she was giving it to him. His hands were on either side of her face, crushing his mouth to hers, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. He moved his hands down, one finger gently stroking her chin, the other moving to her waist, feeling the curve, the bare skin. He deepened the kiss, nipping at her lip softly and backing her against the wall. He could feel her hands on his waist, grabbing at his shirt. She was different this time though. She was leaving it all to him. Her hands were gripping folds of his shirt, but they weren’t trying to rip it off like they had been in the church. His hand moved up to her breast, fingers grazing on the lacy fabric, feeling the hard nipple underneath. He could feel his trousers getting tighter as his thumb brushed her nipple and she pressed her hips into his, grinding softly.

He leaned down to her neck, placing his lips on the smooth skin. She tasted like coconut. Taking the lapels of her trench coat, he shrugged it over her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground in a dark heap. He glanced from the floor to her face, she was gazing at him intently, her eyes boring into him. He wondered what she was thinking. She smiled, a small smile, waiting for him. He crushed his lips back into hers, one hand in her hair, the other splayed on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him, closing the space. He could feel her hand on the back of his neck, brushing against his collar.

At the reminder of the dog collar, he felt a sudden tightening around his neck. He needed it off. He reluctantly extracted his hand from her hair and pulled gently at the white tab in the front of his shirt. Dropping it on the floor next to her coat, he pulled his jacket off and undid a couple of buttons on his shirt. That was better. She eyed the discarded collar and then brought her gaze back to him. She was still looking slightly hesitant. Like she was leaving it all to him.

He dropped his lips to her collarbone, placing gentle kisses along the line to the base of her neck. ‘You ok?’ He whispered softly.

‘Yes,’ she replied, one hand brushing gently through his hair.

‘Want me to stop?’

‘No,’ this was louder.

He laughed and moved his lips down further. Her tits tasted like coconut as well. He pulled the straps of her lacy bra down her arms and reached behind her for the clasp, undoing it in one expert pinch between his thumb and forefinger. Then his lips were on her nipple, biting gently, tongue flicking, as his hands moved down her body. Grabbing at her waist, he guided her towards the sofa, sitting gently and pulling her on top of him. She straddled him, naked except her lacy knickers. He put his hands on her butt, pulling her into him and she brought her lips back down to his.

She grabbed at the buttons of his shirt, frantically ripping them open and pulling the shirt off over his arms. At the sight of the black undershirt, she sighed loudly, ‘how many layers do you wear?’ She asked frustratedly as she tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

‘I like to make you work for it,’ he replied with a laugh, before pulling her back into him, hands on her back, pressing her body against his chest, as she grinded her hips on his lap. His cock was straining now against his trousers. As if she was reading his mind, she reached her hands down and undid his belt, before moving onto his fly. She yanked his trousers and boxers down in one move. Fuck, he was hard. She was standing in front of him, throwing his clothes to the side. He raked his hands through his hair as he watched her, eyes trained on her body as she hooked a finger around her underwear.

‘Do you want these off?’ Her eyes gleamed playfully.

His cock was throbbing. ‘Yes,’ he reached out his arms, trying to pull her back towards him.

‘Want me to stop?’ She teased.

Was she making fun of him? ‘No,’ he muttered through clenched teeth as she took a step back.

Finally, she slipped the black material down her legs, took a step forward and sat back onto his lap, one thigh either side of him. She leaned down to his neck, kissing gently before sucking on the skin and then, feeling for his cock, she lowered herself onto it slowly. He exhaled loudly as she sank down. She began to rock her hips and he buried his face into her, eyes closed, his arms on her back, pulling her into him. The scent of coconut filled his senses and he could feel her hands on his arms, his shoulders and then on his cheek, lifting his face up to hers. He opened his eyes and hungrily stared at her. She had that familiar smile. Her eyes were locked on his. He felt a rush of emotion as she moved slowly, establishing a rhythm as her hips bucked against his. He moved his hands to her clit, the pad of his thumb stroking gently in time with her rhythm.

‘Fuck, Jesus Christ,’ he breathed into her as she rolled her hips, hands placed on his shoulders.

His mouth found a nipple, rock hard and waiting, he flicked his tongue over it before taking it into his mouth and sucking. She moaned softly as she continued to move on top of him, riding him faster and faster, crying out his name, until he felt like he couldn’t breath anymore, before slowing to a gentle lazy grind. She was teasing, drawing him in, just like she always did. Bringing him closer and closer, until she was everywhere, filling his senses, running her hands through his hair, their bodies slick with sweat as she slammed against him.

He needed to come, his heart was pounding out of his chest. She brought her mouth to his, forcing his lips open, pushing her tongue in. He focussed his fingers on her clit, stroking, circling and flicking as she cried out again, her rhythm becoming faster and faster until finally she lost it. He thrust his hips up into her and finally let go, a series of profanities falling from his lips as he came, pulling her into him desperately. They stayed for a moment together, him still inside her, her leaning over him and drawing him in for a gentle, tender kiss.

As he opened his eyes, he caught her looking back at him, a glint in her eyes, face flushed and body heaving. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, a desperate need to keep her close to him. He loved her. He’d been wrong before, saying if he had sex with her, he would fall in love. He was already in love, of course he was. She was everything. He held her close, softly stroking his fingers in circles on the small of her back as she sat on his lap. She leaned in again, placing a soft kiss on his lips, quick but tender.

When she climbed off him, disappearing into another room, a quick glance back over her shoulder as she left, he stared after her. He couldn’t bear her out of his sight, she had taken a part of him with her. He suddenly felt strangely bare, acutely aware that nobody had seen him like this in the past decade. He located his boxers and threw them on quickly, looking around the room. He was looking at the bookcase when she returned, studying a picture of her, with a friend holding her guinea pig. She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around him, hands snaking round to his chest. They stood there, breathing aligned, her chest pressed against his back, her face nuzzling into him until finally she lifted her lips to his ear.

‘I have a bed,’ she whispered, warm breath tickling him softly. ‘Do you want to see it, or will you be leaving?’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he turned in her arms and kissed her, hands brushing her hair off her face. He leaned back, taking her in, taking deep breaths as he studied her. She grabbed his hands and turned, leading him through the doorway into her bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, an abstract painting on the wall but little else. It was exactly how he had imagined it would be.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hand still in his. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ she bit her lip playfully.

He held her gaze, a smile on his lips and then knelt in front of her, parting her legs with his hands.

‘Oh, I missed a trick there, I should have told you to kneel,’ she was still smiling.

He didn’t respond, he put his hand on her waist, he pulled her into him, and lowered his tongue to her upper thigh, gently nipping and sucking. She buried her hands in his hair as he bit her thigh, sucking on the tender skin as he made his way up. He reached his hand up between her legs, two fingers sliding inside her, feeling how wet she still was. With one last look at her face, eyes on hers as she watched him, he lowered his mouth to her clit, tasting her with a deep sigh. He flicked his tongue softly over her clit, sucking and gently nipping on it. He could feel her thrust her pelvis into him gently, guiding him to a rhythm. He circled his tongue in time, following her lead. A quick glance up told him she was enjoying it, her face was thrown back, her eyes closed as he continued to swirl his tongue over her. He could feel her getting wetter, taste her as she pressed into him, moaning. She was whimpering. He could feel himself getting hard again as he upped his pace until finally she cried out, calling his name, calling for God, and then she was jolting her hips towards him. He could feel her clit pulsing beneath his tongue, he moved it lazily over her as she came, revelling in the desire he could feel.

She lifted herself up, moving up towards the top of the bed and pulled him on top of her. Her fingers moved to the waistband of his boxers before moving under it. Her hand clasped his hardened cock, gripping the base and stroking up under the tent of his boxers.

‘You want to go again already?’ She whispered, breathing heavily.

He took a quick drink from a glass of water on the table and leaned down to kiss her, ‘I’m ready for anything with you,’ he said, mouth open against hers, breathing her in.

His boxers discarded quickly, he would take it slower this time, he thought, as he pushed his cock into her. She was wet and tight and he thrust slowly. Fuck he was so in love with her. It was simultaneously the most obvious and the most astounding fact he had ever known. He was in love with her and he was here with her, moving inside her. The slow thrusts were too much to bear. Maybe he could take it slow next time instead, he thought, as he slammed his hips into her, watching her tits as they bounced in time with his thrusts. She pulled him in closer, hands on his shoulders, legs wrapped around him and he buried his face into her neck. He could smell the coconut, his lips were on her collar bone, as he thrust rhythmically.

Afterwards, he collapsed onto her, his body covering hers, both slick and glistening with sweat, he could feel her heart hammering against his, her legs were still wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him against her. His mind was fuzzy with her. Filled with her just as it had been for the past two days. Her breathing was ragged against his neck. He was aware of how quickly he had come that time, and wondered lazily whether she was comparing him to Mr nine times.

‘I’ll take it slower next time,’ he muttered into her neck.

She laughed and released her legs from his waist. He collapsed onto the bed beside her, lying on his side, one hand still on her waist.

‘Don’t worry, Father,’ she turned onto her side to face him, ‘I am enjoying every minute of this.’ She shuffled closer to him, their legs intertwined, her knee between his.

‘So you glad I came?’ He reached up to stroke her cheek softly, his breathing subsiding.

‘I’m glad you came,’ she moved her face slightly, kissing his palm as it lay on her cheek. Her eyes were closed softly, he relished the view, her lips pouted slightly, her eyelashes long against her cheeks. He could lay like this forever, he thought contentedly.

After a few moments, his stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting his thoughts of her. Her eyes flew open.

‘Sorry,’ he shifted slightly, laying on his stomach, his face turned towards her, resting on his hands. ‘I haven’t eaten today.’

‘You haven’t eaten all day? Trying to starve me out of your system were you?’

He laughed at how close she was to the truth, casting his mind back to the priest’s orders that he fast his lust for her away. ’Something like that,’ he smiled.

She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, ‘I do not understand your religion,’ she shook her head as she reached for an oversized t-shirt and threw it on. ‘But,’ she turned back to face him, ‘since you came to me, I will feed you.’

She jumped up and headed to the kitchen.

He turned onto his back, pulling the sheet up to his waist. It was strange that he had been instructed to fast. And it sure hadn’t helped, he thought, as he stared up at the ceiling. She was back quickly, another glass of water and a large bag of chips in hand.

‘I don’t really have food. I tend to eat at the cafe, so this will have to do,’ she plonked the food on the bed and sat down next to him, one hand playing in his hair. He sat up and grabbed the chips, pulling them open and offering her one.

‘I’m good thanks,’ she smiled. ‘I’m on a strict diet tonight.’ She moved her gaze towards his crotch and bit her lip.

Fuck.

He wondered how long he would have to wait until they could go again. After an interregnum on sex of ten years, he felt like an addict who had finally had their first drop and was now desperate for as much as he could get. He pulled her into him and she fell into the crook of his arm, her head nuzzling against his chest, hand playfully meandering up his abs.

‘So, does a priest go to the gym, or is that strictly forbidden?’

‘A priest goes to the gym,’ he laughed. Her fingers left his skin tingling as she trailed down his torso towards the top of the sheet.

’Wearing the collar?’ She looked up at him.

He shook his head, chuckling. ’I wear exercise gear at the gym.’

‘Like, shorts and a tank, or…?’ She was still looking up at him. ‘Just trying to build a clear picture.’

She was insatiable. ‘Um, yeah, shorts and t shirt I guess.’

‘Ok,’ she settled back down onto his chest.

He finished the chips and they sat in silence as she continued to stroke his abdomen. As he threw the bag to the side and grabbed the glass of water, her hands began spending more and more time at the bottom of his stomach, where the sheet lay, covering him. His skin was on fire as she traced and scratched her fingernails back up towards his abs. He could feel himself responding and a quick glance to her face told him she had also noticed.

She looked up at him, licking her lips as they curled into a small smile and her fingers moved under the sheet. Her hand clasped his hardened cock, gripping the base and stroking up. With her other hand, she propped herself up, moving down his body and peppering kisses down his stomach, following the trail of hair from his belly button. Slipping her head under the sheet, she disappeared. He leaned down and grabbed at the sheet, throwing it to the side, he wanted to see her.

She took her time, moving deliberately, eyes on his as she opened her mouth, wet lips gleaming, and placed it over the head of his cock. She swirled her tongue as she moved her mouth over him, taking him fully in, hollowing her cheeks and sucking gently. His head fell back against the headboard as she fucked him and he closed his eyes. She teased him gently, bringing her tongue up the underside of his cock, gripping the base with her hand and twisting as she flicked her tongue over him.

His hands grappled at the sheet beneath him as he thrust his hips softly towards her, desperate for more, dizzy with pleasure as she hummed and pumped her mouth around him. Opening his eyes, he could see her glancing up at him from under the sheet, eyes smiling as she watched him.

She brought her lips up, replacing them with both hands as she ran her tongue around the head of his cock. ‘You can come whenever you want,’ she murmured, lips slick, upping the pressure as she took him into her mouth again.

‘Don’t…’ he tried to speak as she set a pace, gagging a little as her head moved down his length. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He wanted to reach out and touch her, she was too far. He put his hands on his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. He felt dizzy, his hips were thrusting faster, out of his control. It was pure bliss. Each time he cried out, she upped her pace, frenetically moving up and down, hand gripping tighter around the base.

He was vaguely aware of calling out to God, swearing and crying her name as he let go with a final thrust of his hips. He exploded, her mouth still covering his cock as he collapsed back into the pillow. Forget praying to reach heaven, he thought as she raised her head and moved up the bed to join him, this was it, here, and he was never leaving.

He opened his eyes, grasping at her as she fell onto his chest, arms encircling her, pulling her into him, never wanting to let her go.

‘I think that might be my favourite thing,’ she muttered into his chest.

‘What?’ he glanced down at her in surprise. ‘Better than when I knelt for you?’

Should he be offended?

‘I just really enjoyed seeing your face.’

‘Just give me a second,’ he was still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, ‘I’ll go one better, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she replied lazily, snuggling closer into him.

***

He woke with a jolt. Where was he? The light was on. He looked down, realising where she was. She was nuzzling into him, one hand resting on his chest. He felt a rush of love as he studied her sleeping form. They were both still naked, bodies pressed together. He felt his abdomen stir, the sensation moving down his body into his cock. Shifting slightly so as to avoid waking her, he moved from underneath her and made his way across the room, shutting off the light in the bedroom and heading into the bathroom.

He was in trouble, he thought as he looked in the mirror. He was here, with her. And he never wanted to leave.

Coming back into the room, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 2am. Would it be bad to wake her? He pondered. He _had_ promised her another round. He sat gently back onto the bed, shimmying down under the sheet next to her. She stirred at the movement and opened her eyes slowly.

‘Hello,’ she whispered. The moonlight was shining through the thin curtains, reflecting off her face.

‘Hi,’ he replied, tracing his finger softly over her lips.

‘Are you leaving?’ She propped herself up slightly.

‘No,’ his fingers made their way over her lips, under her chin and onto her shoulder,

‘Good,’ she climbed on top of him, sleepily, legs straddling him, forehead pressed onto his. ‘I can’t believe we wasted time sleeping.’ She lowered her mouth onto his, softly pressing her lips to his and then moving onto his neck.

‘We won’t do that again,’ he whispered as she bit his neck and sucked at the skin.

He put his forefinger under her chin, pulling her face back up to his. ‘I want to see you.’ He pressed his lips back onto hers, pulling away every so often, whispering her name tenderly. It didn’t take long for the kisses to become more urgent, her lips were soft, eager, turning to frantic and bruising as they crushed against his. He flipped her onto her back, propping himself over her and trailed his lips down to her tits. Her nipples were hard again, he sucked at one, taking it between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it.

He made his way further down, trailing his tongue down her stomach and finding her clit. This time when she came, she begged him, begged him for more, begged him not to stop, her body pulsating against his tongue. She cried out his name, screaming loudly as the wave of the orgasm broke. She reached down for him, pulling him up to her, raking her hands down his back before turning on her side away from him and reached back guiding his hard cock between her legs and into her.

Grabbing at her hip and slamming his cock into her, he bit down hard on her shoulder as the heady sensation engulfed him. He could feel her name burning on his skin as he cried out and he reached around to massage her clit with his finger, moving in time with his thrusts, leaving deep teeth marks in her skin as he drove into her. She rocked her pelvis, pushing her arse back into him, rolling her hips as he thrust. He lasted longer this time. He counted her orgasms as he thrust inside her and stroked her clit. Finally, he let go, he groaned blissfully, burying his face into her neck and placing kisses on her shoulder as he came.

Again he stayed, clinging onto her, still joined to her. His chest pressed against her back as they calmed. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the glisten of sweat on her as she placed her hand on top of his, interlinking their fingers.

Eventually, they fell apart, taking space to calm their breathing. He felt the cool rush of air against his scorching skin as he placed a hand on his heart. It was hammering against his chest, his stomach fluttered softly as he glanced over at her, flushed, shiny with sweat and smiling back at him. He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling heavily with his breath and drifted off again, one hand reaching out to the middle of the mattress, ensuring it was linked with hers as they slept.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reading. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think.
> 
> i hope everyone is staying safe. Much love.

**Chapter Six - It’ll pass**

When he woke up, she had turned away from him. His hand was outstretched in the middle of the mattress, reaching out for her. The sunlight poured through the windows and his heart lurched as he watched her, taking in the curve of her neck and her waist. He reached out his hand, stroking the soft skin from between her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. She didn’t stir.

It was early, he had four hours until his mass service and six until he was expected at the house for the wedding.

His head pounded, it had only been a couple of hours since they had fallen asleep. Today would be a long day, trying to get through this wedding on three hours sleep, trying to get through the day with her, full stop.

He was in love with her. It was almost unbearable. He had known he loved her before he’d arrived at her flat the previous evening, he had known when she had answered the door to him, when he gazed at her as she answered the door to Mr nine times. He had known each and every time he looked into her eyes last night.

He turned onto his side, away from her. He couldn’t get his head straight with her in front of him. Last night had been... heaven.

But in the light of day, what now? He had arrived here with the intention to get her out of his head. He had vague recollections of yelling at her to get out of his mind when he’d been at the church. But the minute he had seen her at her front door...

He drifted off back to sleep, images of her face in his mind.

***

He was awoken an hour or so later. Gentle tingles ran down his skin as he felt her trace the back of his neck softly.

‘What?’ He muttered softly, as her hand continued to trace down his neck.

Her hand stopped. She chuckled.

‘What do you think?’ His eyes felt heavy, they weren’t ready to open just yet.

‘I just...-‘ she laughed softly.

‘Go on.’ He reluctantly opened his eyes, turning to face her, smiling as he caught sight of her.

She looked beautiful. Better this morning than he’d ever seen her before, if that was possible. His heart burst with love. He adored her. It was heaven, laying here inches from her. In their bubble.

‘I just...-‘ she was hesitant, vulnerable.

‘Go on,’ his eyes were on hers.

‘I just can’t believe you did that,’ she shook her head softly against the pillow.

He couldn’t believe it either. He couldn’t believe it. But as the memories of the previous night came flooding back, he knew it couldn’t have been any other way. She was still gazing at him, biting her bottom lip.

Like an invisible string had pulled him towards her, he jolted forward, lips on hers, hand running through her tangled hair, down to her cheek. She raised her palm and placed it over his as he kissed her softly. It was sweet, lingering. Like they knew their time was about to run out. He shifted his weight, placing his hand on the pillow behind her and she gently pulled him on top of her. Both still naked, with the sheet separating them, he let his body collapse onto her, his chest pressed against hers. He put his forehead to hers, her eyes were wide, penetrating, like she was trying to read him. Was it bad that he took a slight joy in the role reversal? Her trying to read him for a change? He leaned down and brushed his lips softly against hers. He wanted to tell her. Tell her how he felt.

I love you.

Instead, he pressed his body closer to hers, deepening their kiss hungrily and stroking softly down her chin. He could feel himself getting harder as he felt her tongue against lips and her hands reaching up to his hair, stroking down the back of his neck. His skin tingled as her fingers trailed their way down. He loved it. He never wanted it to stop.

Then her hand was reaching between them, reaching for his cock, curling tightly. She moved her hand slowly up his length, leaning back from their kiss and smiling her familiar coy smile. She knew she had him. She knew he was hers, powerless to stop or to leave her. He pressed his lips into her neck, biting softly and then moving down to her tits.

He moaned softly as she let go of his cock abruptly, but he continued moving down her body. His mouth was on her nipples, flicking with his tongue, biting and then down to her stomach. Leaving trails of kisses and soft nips until he reached her clit.

Curling his arms around her legs, he buried his face into her, sucking and flicking his tongue. He reached his fingers down and slid a finger into her. He could feel how wet she was and he felt his cock harden at the thought as he crooked his fingers inside her and increased the pressure with his tongue. When she came she didn’t cry out, she wasn’t wild like the night before. She was soft, gentle, moaning his name, softly whispering before beckoning him back up to her.

As he made his way back up her body, leaving a trail of tender kisses, she pulled him into her, flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his body against hers. As her lips parted to let his tongue in, she languidly thrust her hips against his, grinding softly against his hard cock.

He could barely take it any longer, he was desperate for her. He reached down, guiding his cock and pushing into her slowly. Exhaling loudly, he savoured every inch of pleasure as he thrust into her, hips melded together as he moved slowly. He dipped his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent deeply, willing himself to remember the feeling. She ran her fingers gently down his back, scratching softly to his lower back where they stayed, hugging him into her, closer.

Their breathing was ragged and she bit back her cries as they continued to rock together, grinding their hips against one another and keeping their slow rhythm. Now more than ever, he wanted to tell her. Whisper into her ear that he loved her. He bit his lip, forcing himself to hold back, then he bit softly into her neck as his movement quickened.

He was dizzy with desire as his pace got faster and she dug her finger nails into his back thrusting her hips against his. Her cries were becoming louder and louder until finally she came again, caling out his name, sending shivers down his spine as she moaned into his ear.

He pulled his hips harder, sinking into her until he joined her. His lips on her neck, he let the heady rush roll over him and collapsed onto her, murmuring into her skin and trying to catch his breath. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest and her skin tasted salty as he lay against her, desperate for the moment to keep going. He never wanted to leave her.

Eventually, he moved onto the mattress to her side, keeping their bodies as close as possible and propped his chin up on the palm of his hand. ‘So are we staying here forever?’ His hand was trailing up her stomach, brushing over her belly button playfully. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, not a wide grin, a small one. Her eyes were shining. ‘I hate to remind you...’ she swallowed, ‘there _is_ a wedding today.’

The wedding.

Suddenly, he was catapulted back into the real world. Not only did he have a wedding ceremony to conduct, but he had a morning mass in, he glanced at the clock, one hour.

‘Oh fuck,’ he jumped up quickly, looking around for his clothes.

‘Living room,’ she lay in bed watching him.

He hurried out to the living room, searching for his shirt and trousers. The tab for his collar was sitting on top of her coat, a crumpled pile on the floor. The memory of how it had gotten there came to his mind, an image of her, in front of him as he lowered the coat down her body. He pushed it out of his mind quickly and put the tab into his pocket. Once he’d found his shoes, he headed back into her room.

She was still in bed. The sheet pulled to her waist. She looked up at him as he came through the door. ‘So much for staying here forever then?’ Her face was neutral. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room.

Leaning back against the dresser awkwardly, he kept his gaze on her face, ‘I have to take a mass and…-’ he reached up to his neck instinctually, desperate to loosen the collar. His finger came in touch with skin as he realised he hadn’t put it on.

‘Ok,’ her eyes were boring into his. She licked her bottom lip softly and settled back into the pillow.

He couldn’t stand it. In two steps, he strode over to her and his lips were on hers, one hand curling up through her hair, the other resting on her bare waist. It was hungry and desperate as they crushed their lips together, she was pushing her chest into his.

Too soon, he roughly pulled away from her, resting his forehead on hers, one hand on her cheek. They were breathing shakily, hearts pounding.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered against her lips before kissing her again, slowly, languidly, his tongue brushing her lower lip. ‘I have got to go,’ he pulled himself away from her.

He felt like his body was leading him against his will, forcing him away from her, fighting against a magnetic force that was pulling him in. At the door, he turned, one hand on the frame. She was in the same position he’d left her in, watching him with dark eyes.

He wanted to tell her he loved her.

‘I‘ll see you at the...-‘ he didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to acknowledge where they would be later. _Who_ he would be later.

‘See you at the wedding,’ she said quietly, closing her eyes briefly and glancing back at him.

He dragged himself out the room, and let himself out the front door quietly. The fresh air assaulted him as he stepped outside. It was cool, but the sky was clear and it looked like it could be a nice day.

Nice day for a wedding.

As he headed to the bus stop, the magnitude of what had happened began to dawn on him and his footsteps became heavier with each step.

They had had sex. He had told her they wouldn’t. He had gone over with the intention of getting her out of his head. But they’d had sex. For some reason he wasn’t feeling the instant remorse he’d felt the day after they had kissed. He wasn’t hungover for one. But he was feeling slightly detached from the situation.

He would need to confess, yes. Probably not in too much detail. But he’d need to confess soon. He needed to perform his mass. And then the wedding. Fuck. He hadn’t written the homily. He had been planning on writing it the previous evening, a glass of whiskey in hand and some quiet reflection on what to say. He didn’t really have much time now, he’d just have to wing it.

As he sat at the bus stop waiting for the bus to arrive, his skin tingled at the memory of her body against his. An elderly lady sat down next to him and smiled.

He needed to get her out of his head. He needed to focus. He fastened the last couple of buttons in his shirt and reached into his pocket for his collar tab. Inserting it into the shirt, he tried to focus his mind on getting through the day.

***

‘Hello, father,’ she leaned forward and kissed him forcefully on both cheeks, one hand placed on his back as she pulled him closer. ‘I’m delighted you made it on time. Well,’ she stepped back from him and turned her body slightly, ‘what do you think? The blushing bride in my gorgeous outfit.’ Her mouth was round as she elongated the “o” in gorgeous.

‘You look lovely,’ he side stepped in to the house, edging past her and plastering a smile on his face.

‘So I take it,’ she pointed at him, ‘you aren’t wearing that for the ceremony. You’re robes are...-‘ her eyes scanned his entire body.

‘In here yes,’ he raised the garment bag, containing the robes. _They_ had picked it out together, he remembered with a jolt.

‘Lovely, let me show you where you can change, Father,’ she began to head up the narrow stairs and gestured for him to follow. ‘You can have my art studio, I hope you don’t mind, there are remnants of my sexhibition, but I suppose a man such as yourself,’ she smiled widely, ‘wouldn’t be affected by such things.’ She clasped her hands together.

‘That’s perfect, thank you.’

‘Well we have guests arriving soon, so I’ll just...’ she gestured widely, her arms encircling her before heading back out the door. ‘I’ll see you later, Father,’ she popped her head back around the doorframe before disappearing with a flourish.

He looked around the studio curiously. There were plenty of paintings, a large fan set against the wall and, he turned and laughed, a wall of cocks. A wall of clay penises. He brought his hand up to his mouth as the laughter slipped out. What did _she_ think about this? He wondered.

He felt an ache in his chest as he thought about what she would say. Something clever. Something to make him laugh. He longed to have her here.

He still hadn’t thought through his homily. He set the garment bag down and took his notes out his pocket, wandering out into the hallway and down the stairs. One glance towards the back of the house confirmed that some guests had already arrived. He couldn’t go out there yet, he needed some quiet, a moment of peace before his priestly duties began. He snuck a glance into the kitchen and headed out the side door, finding an alleyway, fenced in on all four sides. Perfect.

He sighed as he tried to read the notes he had made haphazardly that morning on the way to the house. Craving inspiration.

_“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”_

He’d highlighted that line for her. In the bible that he had placed in her hand. 

When he’d met her, he had thought that was what she needed to find in herself. Faith. And hope. But he had been wrong. The one thing she needed, the one thing that radiated out of her in those moments spent together last night, had been love. She craved it just as much as he did. Someone to love, someone to partner with, to be by your side as you braved the world. It was something he’d craved his whole life. Hell, it was the reason he had joined the church, in the hopeful pursuit of finding an ethereal being to be with him always, something to love.

He heard a rustling, coming from the entrance to the alleyway and jumped, eyes wide, it had to be a fox. Spinning quickly, he looked up just as she came round the corner. A vision in red.

‘Oh fuck!’

***

His heart was hammering against his rib cage, his breathing ragged as he willed himself to keep walking away from her. His legs felt like lead as he climbed the stairs and found his way back to the art studio.

How could he get through it? How could he look at her, sitting in front of him as he gave a sermon about love. He placed his hand on his chest, a feeble attempt to calm his breathing. Taking his garment bag into the hallway, he glanced inside various rooms before locating the bathroom. He wouldn’t put it past the bride-to-be to sneak into the studio as he was changing. She would probably think it was art. “A priest prepares.” He snickered to himself at the idea before stopping abruptly, as he caught sight of his face in the bathroom mirror. His lips were rosy, stained from her lipstick and flushed from her lips. He touched his fingers to them briefly before turning on the faucet and scrubbing at his mouth.

How could he get through it? He scrubbed harder at his lips, keen to remove all traces of her. He could still smell her perfume, a dizzying scent, pulling his thoughts back to her.

He had to get it together. He looked down at his notes, laying on the side of the sink.

_Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord - Psalms 31:24_

He began to dress, taking each part of his outfit from the garment bag and reciting his prayers as he went. He had to be strong. He was in danger of falling, falling off this precarious ledge he now found himself on. Falling straight into her and leaving his other life behind. This life he had built and dreamed of.

He could be strong. He looked at himself in the mirror, robe on. He loved this. Loved to wear these, carry out sermons, inspiring hope in those who looked to him for their faith. He couldn’t let himself fall. He had to be stronger. He had to remind himself of his love for God. The love that would persist. The love he felt for her, however real it felt right now, he knew it would pass.

Taking one last look in the mirror and smoothing his robes tenderly, he headed down the stairs.

***

Watching her walk away, after saying goodbye to him and to her dad, his stomach lurched. Her face during the ceremony had been closed off. He couldn’t tell what she had been thinking. Whether she could tell he had made up his mind. Whether she had changed hers. He felt like he was teetering on the cliff edge, looking out over a ravine. He knew he wasn’t going to jump. But his stomach lurched anyhow, queasy at the sight of the fall.

After her retreating silhouette had disappeared, he made his excuses, extricating himself from the bride’s arms and left the house. His steps were heavy. He could see her, sitting at the bus stop in the same spot she had been the day before, when he had asked her not to come to his church. This time he had to be stronger. After tonight, he wouldn’t be able to show up on her doorstep again. Tonight was the end. Breaking it off with her twice in two days had to be the final straw, anything else would be cruel. And he had to force himself to move on. He deserved to regain his peace.

She looked up as he approached, a resigned smile on her face. She knew.

***

He walked away slowly. What had been a single tear as he’d told her he loved her had now transformed into a flood. Tears poured down his face as he willed himself to keep walking, to not look back. He brought his hand up to his eye, roughly wiping the tears as they fell. He had to keep his resolve. He had wanted to tell her last night, he’d wanted to tell her in the early hours when they had made love. He’d wanted to tell her as they had woken up. And now he had finally told her. Did she think he had said it just to placate her? A final gift as he headed off into the night.

I love you too.

It was true. It was unbearable, the amount of love he felt for her as he forced his feet to keep moving. He had wanted to kiss her. As they had sat at the bus stop, hands interlaced, faces inches apart. He had been desperate to kiss her. One final kiss. She had glanced at his lips, a split second. He could have closed the gap. He could have done it.

He was walking slowly. The pull was still strong. He stopped abruptly, the garment bag swung by his side. He turned, was she still there? No. He couldn’t do it. He had to stay strong.

He turned back again, continuing his heavy walk away from her. He didn’t know where he was going. For all he knew, the church was in the opposite direction. He just had to keep his delicate resolve. Keep walking away.

Was she still there? The bus hadn’t been due for a while. She was probably still sitting there, staring up at the announcement board, cursing him, or grateful for a lucky escape.

He stopped again. He couldn’t end it. He couldn’t do it. How could he? Knowing she was out there somewhere. Loving him. My God, he loved her.

He turned again. He raked his hand roughly through his hair. What was he doing? Was he going back? It had to be now. If he was ever going to do it. He took a tentative step back towards her. Yes. He had too. He had to go back.

Then he was racing, feet pounding on the pavement as he retraced his steps. His heart began to feel lighter with every step. As if the closer he got to her, the freer he became. He could see the bus stop, lit by a streetlight. He upped his pace, it had turned into a run. He couldn’t wait to see her.

He was at the bus stop before he realised. She was gone. He bent over, hands on his knees as he regained his breath. She was gone. He was too late. Leaning against the bus stop, he sank down to the ground, knees curled into his body and head resting in his hands.

She was gone…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED....


End file.
